City of a Thousand Laughs
by ShadowMajin
Summary: AU. Sequel to The Sixth Move. It started quietly enough. There was a new vigilante in town along with a chance meeting with an old friend. That all changed with the rise of a madman hellbent on the destruction of Gotham.
1. All Grown Up

Greetings folks, ShadowMajin here with the third story of Anonymous Void and my's series. I'm gonna be upfront about this, I think this one's going to be the best of the series to date. I'm really excited about it. Hope y'all enjoy it and look forward to your response.

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><p>The click-clacking of high-heels bounced off the cement sidewalk. Tall buildings lined the street as dull light poured from street lamps. Gotham was everything and nothing like she expected it to be, though that wasn't to say that was a good thing.<p>

It was a chilly, autumn night, which prompted a rather large, fuzzy coat to be draped over her body. Long, dark hair poured over the collar and down her back. Usually she had a hat on, but she had only arrived in the city earlier in the day. The last thing she needed was to be recognized at least until showtime.

On the bright side she had on proper leggings. The night was growing colder the longer she was out here. So far she hadn't blown out steam from her nose and mouth, but she was waiting for it. Heck, she'd probably be seeing that mist by the time she got back to her hotel.

Oh, where were her manners? She had yet to introduce herself! Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Zatanna Zatara, magician extraordinaire, heir to the magical mantel of John Zatara, and all-around amazing dad. He wasn't around anymore though, so it was up to her to keep the magic act going, and if she didn't say so herself, she had brought it to heights even her father hadn't dreamed of.

Which was why she was in Gotham, her first trip to the city ever. So far, she was impressed and unimpressed, a dichotomy of odd proportions. The iconic skyline had been breathtaking as the plane had flown her and her troupe in. It was a shame that she couldn't have explored the city during the day—it may have given her a different experience than the one she was having. She had thought the nightlife had something to offer since most big cities did. While Gotham did have that setting, Zatanna had made the mistake of going off the beaten path and found herself in a less savory neighborhood.

Which led her to her current predicament as she walked to her hotel with nary a cab in sight. Wasn't it in the interest of taxi drivers to be anywhere and everywhere? You never saw this in Metropolis, she'd have you know.

Oh well, there was one other thing a tourist could do at night in this very city: Bat-watching. No, not those furry little critters that looked like Satan's spawn had hocked a loogie and went running away screaming. That would just be boring and a waste of time. Instead, she was on the lookout for one that was reported to be huge and liked to jump from rooftop to rooftop.

To be honest, she hadn't really paid much mind to the rumored appearance of the so-called Batman. Zatanna had figured it to be a publicity stunt or some such nonsense—at least that's what she thought until the fabled Night of Ice as the Gotham press was so apt to call it. It was hard to argue with video footage of a man-sized bat fighting a man in a space suit.

Then there was the constant stream of Gothamites she had run into during her travels. Everyone of them had gone on at great length about Batman-this, and Batman-that. Yet none of them had even seen the guy, though one of them swore that a friend of a friend of theirs had. Pretty sketchy stuff if you asked her. So here she was, gazing up at the tops of buildings with the faint hope of catching sight of a dark figure peeking his little bat-head into sight like a whack-a-mole, only so she could say, "I saw him and he wasn't that scary."

And so far, nothing, not that she was disappointed. Oh well, this night was already a loss and a sighting of a wanted vigilante wasn't going to magically make things better—that was her job after all.

As she approached the opening of an alleyway, she didn't pay much mind to a man in a hoodie leaning his back against the corner of one of the buildings. She could feel his eyes rake up her body though. It was something she was used to, especially in her costume. Besides, she was hot, so it was expected that beings of lesser, instinctive minds would drool about her. You know, men.

However, when the man in the hoodie took a step towards her, Zatanna immediately flickered her blue eyes to him. "Hey baby, lookin' for some adventure tonight?" he leered at her.

Zatanna ignored the man as she walked by him. If the guy was was harmless, he'd just keep wolf-whistling as she kept walking away. No harm, no foul, though she would be a little annoyed by the lame pickup lines. Seriously, what guy thought those worked? She hadn't met one that worked, at least on her. The price of having standards, the dark-haired woman supposed.

However, if the guy was aggressive, well, there was always her lessons from Ms. Hogie's Self-Defense Class for Girls.

Unfortunately, hoodie guy turned out to be the aggressive kind. Just as she stepped past him, he suddenly shot an arm out and grabbed her by her arm. Roughly, he yanked her into the alley, her balance thrown off as she stumbled on her high-heels. Hoodie guy led her further in, away from street and prying eyes, until he came to an abrupt halt.

Zatanna had just gotten her footing again, but before she could act, the man moved behind her, his grip on her arm tightening. He then, ugh, stuck his face in her lovely hair and took a deep whiff. "Mmm, you smell good," he groaned. "Just the way I like 'em."

_Gross_.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll let me go," Zatanna warned him.

"Or what? You'll scream?" the man taunted her. That's when his grime-covered hand slapped down on her mouth, an attempt at silencing her. "Go ahead then. I like it when they fight back.

_Ew, double gross._

That's when she made her move. Raising a leg up, she then stomped the heel of her shoe on hoodie man's foot, digging the heel in and causing him to howl in pain. She then leaned forward and moved an arm in front of her, bending it at the elbow. She then drove it back, imbedding it in the man's stomach and forcing the air out of his lungs.

She felt the guy loosen his grip on her arm. Immediately Zatanna pulled away, turning around to face hoodie man and then swung a leg up. Her foot made a direct hit as she kicked him right in the balls, causing hoodie guy's eyes to bulge out of his sockets as he dropped to the dirty ground, grabbing his wounded pride.

_Ha! Score one for Ms. Hogie!_

"So, still like it when girls fight back?" Zatanna asked rhetorically. Amusedly, she watched as hoodie guy tried to stand up, using a nearby trash can to help himself up. He was glaring at her through tear-shed eyes and his teeth were gnashing together.

"You bitch!" he growled at her before he reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a thin handle. With a flick of a switch, a five-inch blade shot up, gleaming in the dull light that managed to enter the alley. "I'm gonna cut you up for that," he threatened.

Zatanna wasn't impressed. In fact, she was thinking of the three different ways she could disarm the guy; she had taken a comprehensive self-defense class after all. In a way, she was glad for this guy—he was giving her the chance to put those classes to use and boy had it paid dividends. The next time her manager complained about wasting money on teaching the girls in her troupe basic self-defense lessons, she was so going to rub this in his face.

However, before hoodie guy made to fruitlessly stab at her, he suddenly froze. Strangely, his eyes widened in horror before he dropped his knife, whipped around, and ran stiffly away from her towards the other end of the alley. Even more surprising was how he was screaming the entire way.

_Huh, Ms. Hogie didn't mention the lessons would do that_.

Zatanna just watched before hoodie guy disappeared around the corner. A part of her was prideful about his awkward-looking run, no doubt from her crotch shot. Most of her was just bewildered by the man's sudden change in demeanor. It was pretty sudden after all and usually people were running _at_ her, not away.

_Whatever_. Adjusting her coat around her, the dark-haired woman looked at the sleeve hoodie guy had grabbed and groaned when she noticed something sticky and black on it. She didn't want to know what it was, but she knew it was going cost her a lot of dry-cleaning bills to get it out. Just great, hoodie-loser not only ruined her already wasted evening, but dirted her favorite coat. It wasn't like she could send him the bill either since he was long gone by now. She'd just have to have her manage deal with it—she was so over this night.

Turning around, Zatanna made to leave the alley when a rather broad chest entered her sight, which caused her to let out a short squeak of surprise—she preferred to think of it less embarrassing than that, so she chose to remember it in much less girly terms in the future. More importantly, her eyes zoomed right in on the symbol of a bat staring her down.

Slowly, she tilted her head up and saw the horned head of the Batman, his white eyes burning into her own blue ones. He was...bigger than she thought. Oh God, did she really just think that, the most cliched first thought in all of surprised encounters?

Still, he was tall and was covered from head to foot in black. The only thing, other than those creepily blank eyes, that she found herself transfixed by was his mouth, which she found herself staring at next. His five o'clock shadow was showing and his lips...very manly.

Okay, now wasn't the time to fall head over heels for a guy she just met. That could come later.

"Umm, hi," she finally said, then just as quickly berated herself. _Um, hi? Can you not come up with something better to say to a guy who looks like he could bench-press your body on a regular basis?_

In response, the Batman just kept staring at her.

"Uhh, thanks...for uhh, you know...back there…with the guy…" Zatanna stumbled as she vaguely pointed in the direction hoodie guy ran, much to her own mortification. Seriously, a tall, dark, and mysterious stranger pops up out of nowhere and she gets tongue-tied. She thought she already had grown out of that phase years ago—apparently not.

She let out a sigh and bowed her head down. _Alright, get it together, Zee. Show this guy that he isn't blowing your mind with his little act. You're the best magician in the damn country, so show that you're more than just a set of long legs and a pretty smile._ Pep talk over, she lifted her head up to speak again.

Only to find herself completely alone with no evidence the Batman had ever been there.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed as she shot her head from side to side, looking all over for the vigilante. When she saw no sign of him, her shoulders sagged.

Well, that could've gone better.

* * *

><p>Zatanna had grown up.<p>

Staring down on the dark-haired woman, Batman watched as she looked all over for him before giving up. He turned his head, following her as she walked out of the alleyway and back onto the street heading further into downtown.

The vigilante was perched on top of the building next to their surprise reunion. How long ago was it? Almost at will, images of a stage and a room filled to the brim with boxes, costumes, and all sorts of props appeared in his mind. A younger version of the woman he had just met stood before him with eyes only for him and lips in a near constant state of giggling.

For some reason, it felt like those days were so much simpler.

Shaking his head, Batman cleared the suddenly ride through memory lane. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her in the intermittent years since then, but seeing her from an audience and up close were two different things. A seat from the back of a crowded theater didn't show the glimmer in her eyes, the rosiness of her cheeks and lips, or the open emotions that shone from her face at a moment's notice.

If felt like a lifetime ago, and perhaps it had been. A lot had happened since the last time they had seen each other. She was the main act of her father's old show and he was sitting on rooftop waiting for punks to make the mistake of robbing jewelry stores.

Speaking of which…

Making sure Zatanna was in the clear, he turned his back on her fading form and stalked towards the other side of the building. Her attacker had come running this way, but there was only so much ground he could cover in the couple of minutes Batman had spent watching over a certain magician. Reaching the edge of the building, he looked left and right, soon spotting a fleeing figure several blocks down.

Grapple out, he fired it at a nearby building and waited long enough to feel the line go tant. Leaping off his current perch, he swung through the night's air, cool wind beating at him. As he began arching up, he swung his legs forward to add momentum to his swing. Reaching the apex, he hit a button that disengaged the grapple's claw and caused it to retract back to the gun. His momentum allowed him to sail through the air until he landed on the corner of another building.

Racing along the roof, he lept off the edge, grabbing the edge of his cape to slow his descent as he fell onto the next building. Staying on his feet, he kept moving, using his speed to allow him to jump an alley onto another building.

Glancing to the street up ahead, he noticed his target had slowed down, coming to a stop when his endurance gave out. Even as he closed the distance between them, the vigiliante could see the man bend over, a hand stretched and pressed against the building next to him as he tried to catch his breath.

That was his second mistake, the first attacking a woman for no reason other than his own gratification. Soon he was crouched on the building across the street from his prey, the man straightening himself out as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his hoodie.

With a leap, Batman was flying through the air, the edge of his cape in hand as he used it as a makeshift parachute. The streetlamps lights cast his shadow over the man, its darkness growing bigger and bigger as he approached the target. The man froze where he stood and slowly turned his head just as Batman was on top of him, his face twisting in horror as he screamed.

The vigilante's boots slammed into the man's chest, forcing him right into the brick wall of the building. Letting go of his cape, Batman dropped to the sidewalk, landing gracefully before he launched himself at the hoodlum. Grabbing him by his hoodie, he lifted the guy right off the ground and shoved him roughly against the wall.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" the man cried out as he struggled against the wall, body worming around and legs kicking sporadically.

"Which part?" he growled, which caused the man to stop his struggling, going limp in the vigilante's hands. "The assault or the knife?"

The punk stared down at him, gulping audibly. "Please don't hurt me," he said weakly.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to walk. Eventually."


	2. I'm Telling You, It Was Him!

The bats were restless tonight. Then again, they usually were when Batman came roaring into the cave with his car. The rumblings of the engine scared them and caused them to wail in protest. It had been alarming at first, then become annoying. Now it was business as usual.

Batman removed his mask as he approached the supercomputer, dropping it on the console as he took a seat in his chair. He ran a hand through his shellacked hair, absently ruffling it up. Helmet hair was a price of wearing a mask it seemed, though a good shower usually took care of that.

That would come later as he had work to do. Fingers flashing across the keyboard, Bruce began logging in tonight's encounters, as well as processing the video feed from his lens. He was quite anal when it came to cataloging his work, constantly making sure everything was saved and filed in the correct place on his hard drive. He had a method to his madness, plus organization made for efficient information access should he ever need to recall a case.

Usually he could get on by alone with this tedious work, but tonight would be different. Alfred was making his way down the stairs, which he could tell from the older man's footsteps. Seemed he had some Bruce Wayne business that was pressing later in the day.

"Had a good night, Sir?" the butler asked when he was within speaking distance. There was a soft rattle, which meant Alfred had a tray with him. Coffee, tea, perhaps an early morning snack.

"As good as it can be," Bruce muttered, not bothering to look behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred place down a silver tray an a nearby table, a steaming cup of coffee on it. Picking up the cup and the saucer it sat on, the butler placed the china within reaching distance of Bruce, to which the billionaire reached over and picked up the cup. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip of the bitter drink and returned it to the saucer.

"Very good, Sir. Oh, before I forget, Lucius Fox left a message to remind you of your 2:00 meeting. He stressed it was most urgent that you attend."

"Noted," Bruce responded, the flashing of light from the computer screen discoloring his face.

There was a brief moment of silence before Alfred added, "I have come across some more information for your hero logs. It seems the new heroine in Gateway City has struck again."

The young man merely grunted at that information. A couple months ago, yet another super-powered hero had emerged, this time a woman claiming to be from some long lost island composed completely of women. It was a ludicrous tale, or so he thought until a monster right out of Greek myth attacked Gateway. The self-proclaimed Amazon had dealt with the matter and was now part of the growing pantheon—to steal from the Greeks—of "superheroes."

As far as the billionaire was concerned, this was just one more potential disaster waiting to happen.

Seeing as that news wasn't getting a rise out of him, Alfred decided to take another track. "I also believe you have tickets to that magic show in the evening." At this Bruce stopped his typing and listened. "Do you intend on bringing an escort to the festivities?"

The dark-haired young man thought about that for a moment before answering, "No, I don't believe I will. The last thing I need is be distracted."

He could hear the surprise—and the resulting suspicion—in the butler's voice when he replied, "I don't believe that's ever stopped you before, Sir."

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "Would you believe that maybe I would prefer just watching the show and not having some woman's hand running up my leg?"

There was a silence that filled the cave, even from the bats. Curiously, when Bruce turned his chair to face Alfred, he saw the butler looking back at him stoically. "Now that I think about it," the older man started to say, "there were only a few times I recall Bruce Wayne going alone to an event."

"Really now? Are you sure about that?"

The look Alfred gave him told him that the butler would not be fooled. It was pretty similar to the one Bruce had gotten when he was a boy and may have accidentally broken one of his mother's vases. As if to prove his point, Alfred said, "Your 'frequent' trips out of the city for one. I believe they were to Central City and Detroit, correct?"

Alfred didn't even wait for him to acknowledge the point. "At the time there had been the arrival of those heroes if I recall correctly. Incidentally, the front page of the newspapers from each respective city also made mentioned to a magic show being in town." A white eyebrow raised up. "A coincidence, I'm sure."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up. "Are you getting at something, Alfred?"

"Nothing at all, Master Bruce. Only that you seem to frequent magic shows at a rate akin to those charity balls you attend."

The two men stared each other down, each daring the other to say out loud what the other wouldn't. Eventually, Bruce gave in and turned his chair to face the computer once more. A few keystrokes caused an advertisement for the Zatara Magic Show to appear, the image of Zatanna right in the middle of it, surrounded by white rabbits, sparkles, and flowers.

"Since you can't keep your nosey British nose out of it," the younger man spoke, receiving a harrumph from the butler that only added to his amusement. "When I left Gotham, I ended up working for John Zatara for a spell."

"I seem to recall he was an excellent magician," Alfred said as he took a step closer to stand next to the billionaire. "Along with a talent for escape artistry."

"Your memory seems to be active tonight," Bruce remarked with a sideways glance at the older man. The butler dutifully ignored the jab, choosing to stare at the ad. "But yes, you're right. Originally I went to Zatara seeking lessons from him, to which he refused and told me to go elsewhere. Everyday for a week, I'd approach him and every single time he'd say the same thing: 'You look like a capable young man, but I have no interest in taking on a student. Go away.'"

"What a polite way to tell someone to bugger off."

Bruce chuckled at that. "Well, you know me, I don't take no for an answer." A brief cough from Alfred told him that the older man was well aware of that fact. "So instead of asking him until he gave in, I started helping his crew. They didn't seem to mind and neither did Zatara."

"I assume all of this hard work led Mr. Zatara to giving you the lessons?"

"No, it didn't. I did backbreaking labor for the rest of the month and didn't get more than a 'Good job' out of him." Even now, Bruce winced as he recalled those days. Many a time he had gone to bed aching all over only to have to get up again the next day and start all over. "It was around then that I became acquainted with his daughter, Zatanna.

"She would hang around crew most days, watching us work and such. She was pretty shy back then. However, one day someone showed up to rob Zatara. He'd taken Zatanna as a hostage and demanded the previous night's earnings. I had been removing props from the stage when this happened, so while Zatara tried to calm him down, I snuck up on the guy and knocked him out. Zatara was so grateful he decided to teach me what he knew."

A pleasant silence fell over the two men. Then Alfred said, "That's a lovely story, Master Bruce. Though, I fail to see why you follow Ms. Zatanna's show so actively."

This time, a smirk appeared on the younger man's face. "What I've always told you, I was keeping a promise." From the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred turn his head and look at him curiously. "Towards the end of my lessons, Zatara brought me into his office and we spoke at great length about his act. Specifically, he wanted to know what my intentions were to the troupe"—and his daughter, he silently added—"and whether I'd like to stay on full time. I told him I intended on leaving, which he was alright with. He then asked me to promise him that if anything happened to him, that I keep an eye out for Zatanna."

"Thus your attendance at her shows," the butler surmised.

"I don't go to every one of them, but yes, I do make an effort. As far as I know, she's unaware of my presence."

"And you've never made the effort to reintroduce yourself?"

Bruce snorted. "I was a stagehand when we knew each other; I hardly doubt she remembers me."

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><p>"I'm telling you, it was him," Zatanna repeated for what felt like the fiftieth, more than annoyed by now. Sheesh, you would think people would accept your word on seeing a street vigilante instead of giving you the 3rd degree.<p>

"And I don't care if you saw Bugs Bunny sharing carrots with the Easter Bunny," Jeff shot back, just as irritated. "What I want to know is what the heck you were doing walking around Gotham in the dead of night—_alone_."

Folks, meet Jeff Sloane, her manager and all-around ballbuster. He looked like a guy that had walked right out of 70's and refused to get caught up with all the modern advances in style, such as thin-rimmed glasses and a haircut. His bushy brown hair had been combed to a side and large frame glasses sat on his face, from which he glared through at her.

Used to such looks, Zatanna just shrugged her shoulders. "Because I wanted some fresh air, see the sights. Stuff like that."

"In one of the most dangerous cities on the Eastern Seaboard," Jeff deadpanned, unamused. Leaning forward in his chair, he continued, "You know, Zatanna, when I set up shows for the troupe, it really helps that I can deliver on our main attraction. I can't really do that when said main attraction is getting herself accosted in every bad neighborhood she can find."

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes. "Jeff, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I can see that. Summoning giant bats out of thin air is a very useful skill. I'm surprised you didn't tell me about this sooner so I wouldn't have to worry about you!"

"I don't know, Jeff," another woman spoke up, straddling the back of a chair as she rested an arm on its top, her other arm propping her head up as her hand pressed against her cheek. "If what half of Zee's saying is true—"

"Which it is," Zatanna muttered.

"—then I think she should get into trouble more often. Maybe next time we can catch this Bat-guy and put him in a cage. That way we can have another attraction."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the commentary, Jane. Regardless, Zatanna got herself into trouble and needed a freakin' vigilante to bail her out."

"Hey! You're forgetting the part where I fought the guy off," Zatanna protested, stamping her foot angrily. "The Batman just showed up at the end when the guy pulled out a knife."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

"Like I said, I was handling it."

"So tell me this then: if you needed some air, why didn't you stay around the hotel? I'm sure you could've gotten all the air you wanted just walking up and down the street there and come right back in.'

"He's got you there, Zee," Jane added.

"Oh fine," the dark-haired woman said in a huff. "I wanted to check out some clubs, is that so wrong?"

Jane reached out with a hand and began patting the dark-haired woman on her thigh. "There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" she grinned whimsically.

Jeff looked even more put out by that, roughly leaning back in his chair and causing it to scoot back an inch. "I swear, I need to hire a security detail for you," he muttered. Then, like he was addressing a little school girl, he asked, "Now promise me this, Zee: don't go off on your own to some dumb clubs and bars, okay? Not in this city, ever, understand?"

"You know, I'm getting this strange sense of deja vu," Zatanna said as she pointed her nose up in the air. "Maybe it's just my imagination, but I could've sworn you've given me this same speech in every city we've ever been."

Jeff frowned. "I have not."

Raising a hand up, Zatanna began extending her fingers up one at a time as she listed off, "Baltimore, LA, Detroit, Gateway City, Nashville."

"Don't forget the one time in Seattle," Jane added.

"Right, Seattle, Portland, St. Louis—"

"Alright, alright!" Jeff shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "I say it a lot, happy? In fact, I'd say that just proves my point of how careless you are. You haven't even mentioned that one time in London!"

"Ouch, walked right into that one," Jane winced, grinning all the while.

"Okay, fine, I promise I'll be more careful," Zatanna said. "Happy?"

Jeff stared at her before he raised his own hand and began counting fingers. "Baltimore, LA, Detroit—"

"I've said that a lot too, huh?"

"I definitely got a sense of deja vu."

"Ha, Ha, you're a comedian, Jeff."

"I know, that's why I'm the manager of an illusionist act. Now go practice or something," he said as he waved her off. Turning around, Zatanna made to head towards the stage when her manager added, "And stay out of trouble!"

"I doubt I'll find any between here and the stage," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"It's you, Zee. You'd find trouble ordering a cup of coffee."

Ignoring him, Zatanna stalked off. Okay, so she may have found herself in a tough spot or two. Didn't mean she needed a Negative Nancy hovering over her shoulder. That's what parents were for and last she checked, neither of them were in Gotham. Or Baltimore. Or LA…

That was when an arm draped itself over her shoulders. "So tell," Jane spoke as she walked next to the dark-haired woman, "what was he like? Tall? Dark? Handsome?"

Zatanna smirked as she looked at her friend. "Very tall, incredibly dark, and assumingly handsome."

"Just your type of guy, right Zee?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Immediately, Jane rose her hand up to start counting fingers. "Okay, okay, I get it," Zatanna interrupted her before she could start. "You saying I get in trouble because of bad boys?"

"Isn't that how it usually starts?"

"...maybe."

"Maybe instead of trapping him, the next time you see him you should ask him out."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. I doubt I'll see him again."

* * *

><p>Falling temperatures meant more bundling up when walking outdoors. Outside of the high crime rate and some of the more unsanitary sections of the city, it was the temperature that really made Lieutenant Sarah Essen question what she was doing in this city.<p>

Oh yeah, working to make one of the most hellish cities on earth a better place, that was why. That, and if you could make it in Gotham, you could make it anywhere. She was always a sucker for challenges.

Back to the temperature dilemma, she was wearing her coat as she exited the building, stepping out onto the roof where some of the more metaphorically darker aspects of the city were visible. Though lights shinned out from the windows of the buildings themselves, it was like the neighboring buildings were absorbing all the light around them.

Of course, that could just be her imagination.

Now, since she was willingly going out in the cooling night, one would wonder why she was doing that since she had already made it known that she didn't like the cold temperatures. Well, maybe it had something to do with the fact that she wasn't alone up here. Taking up vigil by at the edge of the station was a man who was also dressed for the weather, though one could tell that he was used to the chill than she was.

It was an open secret that the commissioner took to coming up here periodically. Why up here, well, there were many theories. The most popular one was that the man wanted to be alone for a while so that he could have a smoke, another open secret in the department. Other theories included clandestine meetings with mysterious figures who may or may not be special forces operatives to one unsavory one where he was um, masturbating. Alone.

There was also a ridiculous theory involving a nursery rhyme about owls. but no one gave any attention to that one.

So far, there was no theory that involve her being up here so that was a good sign. She had been keeping her trail clean so far because the last thing she wanted was another scandal. Besides, she didn't come up here empty handed either. She came bearing the gift of hot coffee, you know, to warm those bones and all.

This had become more of a regular thing as of late.

"I smell something from the breakroom," Commissioner Gordon remarked. "I hope you brought enough to share with everyone."

She allowed the corners of her lips to quirk upwards. "I come with an offering."

"With milk?"

"No sugar." She approached the older man's side and held out the cup of coffee. Jim didn't even look towards her when he accepted the drink.

Over the months, she had figured out how he liked his coffee: a splash of milk and no sugar. He wasn't big on sweets.

"We've been doing this too much if you know how I like this crap," Jim said evenly as he took a sip from the styrofoam cup.

"Perhaps the department should invest in better coffee grounds," she replied.

"That's one of the smartest things I've heard today. Now if only our budget was more flexible."

She hummed in agreement. A breeze blew by, causing her to shiver even in her warm and cozy winter coat. "How are you able stand it?" she muttered but apparently Gordon's hearing was not deteriorating yet.

"Stand what?" He was glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"How cold it's getting," she answered honestly.

Now, it could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn he chuckled. "You live here long enough, you get used to it. If anything, the temperature is the least of your worries."

She understood the underlying meaning right there. Even as part of the homicide division, there were still times when you had to place yourself into dangerous situations. In a place like Gotham, it was an absolute certainty that you would have to pull out your gun at some point. So yes, falling temperatures wasn't the worst thing you could experience in this situation, but that didn't mean she had to like it either.

"So what's going on in that case of yours, the double homicide?" Jim asked.

"I have my suspicions about the wife. So far there's been no evidence to link her directly to the crime other than how aggressive she's been with the insurance company. I think someone could have been hired to kill the victims, but I need to find evidence of such a thing before I can come to that conclusion." She took a sip of her own coffee, milk and two sugars, once she had finished.

"From my experience, someone talks. If it is a job, then someone involved with the killer or the killer himself talks about it. Just keep your eye on your suspects and your ear to the ground. Be careful not to lock yourself into that theory; there could be another explanation for the murders."

"I've been looking into other scenarios. None so far have panned out."

There was nothing as frustrating as a case that went nowhere and even more frustrating when you had a prime suspect, but could find nothing that implicated their involvement. In this case, it was two gunshots to two heads and no clues left behind to determine the killer's identity with the exception of tire tracks. Other than that, nothing. Her gut was telling her the wife was involved, but either the woman was not part of the crime or she was great at covering her tracks.

Either way, it was a difficult case.

"Bullock tells me I need to relax. That the pieces of the crime will come to me," she said quietly.

"I agree with the first part, but not the second," the commissioner responded. "Speaking of Bullock, what do you think about his partner, Montoya? I heard that she was involved with a bust in Chinatown recently."

"She took an initiative and managed to discover the whereabouts of smuggled heroin," she reminded the older man. "Some of the men involved were already apprehended beforehand and we recovered some evidence on one of Gotham's top party goers. Otherwise, she was professional, kept her head, and so far the media has been giving her the credit. Bullock is both proud and annoyed by it."

"Why annoyed?" Jim asked.

"Because she didn't invite him to, and I quote, 'crack some skulls.'"

"And the evidence of the involvement of, and _I_ quote, 'Gotham's top party goers'?"

"I was the one who collected it. It has since...disappeared from Evidence, though I will say right here and now that I had no involvement in the disappearance."

"I suppose we'll have to be keeping a closer eye on our janitors then," Jim concluded.

"Why the janitors?" That was a little out there, wasn't it?

"How else would our party goer be able to sneak past every cop in the building to retrieve his property from Evidence? And who pays attention to janitors? Never underestimate the residential vigilante."

Oh, so Jim meant _that_ janitor. This wasn't the first time evidence had gone missing. In fact a couple times discarded janitor clothes had been found. Fortunately, the evidence would resurface, usually with a group of viciously-beaten criminals, so it hadn't taken much guessing to figure out just who had been wearing the janitor clothes. "How's the investigation into apprehending the vigilante going?" she pressed on the current subject.

"The same way it's been since the Night of Ice: no progress whatsoever and a slight decrease in the crime rates. One whole percentage last I heard."

"It sounds like there has been some progress," she remarked. "Just not what people are looking for."

"Yes, maybe a sign. So far, Loman's been quiet lately. Though after this latest bust, he might decide to become loud. You would think after last year, what with most of his rivals out of the way he would be wanting to expand a little. There aren't any Stromwells, Falcones, or Maronis stirring up anything or trying to compete with him. Everyone else does not have the kind of infrastructure his outfit has. What better time to expand and take Gotham?"

"Maybe he already has, but hasn't advertised it?" she suggested.

"No. Though he's from out of the country, he's been in Gotham long enough to know how it works. You have to have everybody know you're top dog." Jim paused as he took another sip from his coffee. "Otherwise someone else will do it and you'll have to fight them off, wasting time and resources to do that. You draw the line in the sand early before somebody else does it."

Essen hummed, not replying to the commissioner. What could she honestly say to debate those points? Just the previous year, when in the void of Falcone, Moxon, and Maroni, Oswald Copplepot had done that exact thing. He nearly succeeded to taking most of Gotham's underworld and that was a thought that could send a shiver up anyone's spine.

"I'm feeling a little chilly right now," Jim said. "As much as I dread my office and its reams of paperwork, winter is coming and God invented the heater for a reason."

"You've been watching _Game of Thrones_, haven't you?"

"Barbara's a fan of it and forces me to watch it every available chance she gets. It also seems like I'm not the only one watching." He was teasing her, she knew it and reveled in it. "Come on, Sarah. The night is young and somewhere out there, someone is doing something illegal."

And probably receiving a boot to the face. There had been a lot more of those in the past fourteen months.

Nonetheless, it didn't escape her attention that he had used her first name.

If she was glowing as they returned downstairs, it vanished immediately once the two of them caught sight of the flurry of activity. Phones were ringing off the hook moreso than usual, a lot of yelling, and a lot of movement towards the door as officers raced to their patrol cars.

Pulling aside one of the scrambling officers, the commissioner demanded, "What's going here?"

"Robberies, Sir."

"Robberies?" Jim, er, Gordon repeated.

"A whole string of them happening at the same time all across the city. We're getting calls about new ones by the second," the officer amended.

Gordon shared a look with her. Looks like the night was about to get real busy.

* * *

><p>To Some fan: I do have one in the works, it's just a matter of getting all down first. I've been on this Batman bender for a bit though, but I will be putting out another humor story eventually. I just don't know the exact due date lol<p> 


	3. Clowns to the Left, Joker to the Right

The Jezebel Theater was a building that displayed the opulence of late-1800's architecture. Built exclusively for the use of opera productions, it was one of the few historic buildings of Gotham that managed to survive the rush of industry and modernization that swept in during the roaring 20's. It paid to have an owner that was willing enough to allow theater productions to use its fabled stage when opera began to fall out of favor.

It also helped that Gotham's elite had funded a restoration project for the theater to keep it open. The Cyrus Pinkney design had been updated, yet still kept its gothic signature. In some quarters of society, it was viewed with a certain amount of pride, an honor for any stage act that was lucky enough to perform in its hallow walls. And tonight, a new act would be joining that illustrious group as the building's face was lit up, its doors held open, and a large crowd gathered in front of it.

Traffic was slow on the street before it as cars would stop in front of the theater and let out its occupants before driving off to find a place to park. Even parking was a challenge, but that was to be expected since it was always that way when a big show came to town.

Fortunately for Bruce, he had a reserve parking spot a couple blocks over. It made fighting the traffic and crowd more bearable than having to fight for one of the few spots in a nearby parking garage. He could only imagine how worse things would be if special attention was paid for the rich and visiting celebrities. A red carpet lined with paparazzi blocking the main entrance with people preening for attention would only make the traffic congestion even worse.

Mingling in the crowd, Bruce made his way to the main entrance, handing his ticket to the usher. The young man hardly paid him any mind as he tore the ticket in two and handed back the ticket stub. Free to enter the theater, Bruce strolled in, taking in the sight of the main lobby as people lined up in front of the concession stand, buying overpriced snacks and drinks. The dark-haired man ignored that part of the room and walked towards the other end of the place, where several doors open into the main room.

However, instead of entering through those doors, Bruce headed towards a side hallway, where another usher stood next to a velvet rope. Handing his stub to the usher, the man glanced at the shred of paper before handing it back to him, unhooking the rope and allowing Bruce through. With a nod of appreciation, the dark-haired man walked past and turned a corner, finding a set of stairs leading up. He climbed them two at a time until he reached the top and saw a hallway. Every so often to his left, there were a set of curtains hanging from the ceiling. Walking by them, he went to the second to last one and pulled it to a side. There he found a balcony with three rows of seats, six in total.

Stepping through and letting the curtain swing shut behind him, Bruce sat in the front row and looked towards the stage where even larger curtains hid it from view. The billionaire wasn't expecting anyone else joining him for the show, especially since he had bought out the entire balcony. Tonight was a night for him to enjoy a show, no more, no less. Having to act like a fop would take too much energy and take away from the show.

Of course, there was still much time left before the show actually started. The young man found himself glancing about the auditorium, seeing the audience below searching for their seats, a loud chatter filling the room. The moldings along the walls gave the place a feel of days long gone, yet not forgotten. He could almost see the appeal of the columns and swirling molds. The ceiling also drew notice as it was painted from scenes of various plays and operas that had been performed in this very room. Originally it had been a scene of sky, clouds, and angels, but someone had gotten it in their head that an homage to beloved shows that graced these halls would be a better scene. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to agree.

The chattering soon died down the moment a voice boomed out of the speakers. "_Tonight's show will begin shortly. If all audience members would take to their seats, we will begin shortly. It is asked that all cell phones are turned off or silenced at this time. No flash photography will be allowed once the show has begun._

"_The Zatara Company would like to thank the Jezebel Theater for hosting tonight's festivities. They would also like to extend their thanks to everyone that has come out on this lovely October night, especially when everyone had something better to do._" A soft chuckling from the audience was made at the speaker's depreciating humor. "_Thank you everyone for coming and enjoy the show!_"

That was when the curtains began to slide open. A new voice then came over the speakers, one Bruce very much recognized. Shifting in his seat until he found a comfortable spot, he focused on the emerging stage and waited for the show to begin. "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls! Tonight we have a special show for you! The Zatara Company invites you to take a trip through the mystical and unknown. The mysterious and the magical."

The lights flashed onto the stage, revealing a mist swirling about. Faintly, Bruce could make out a box, its dark silhouette just barely noticeable. "A journey awaits you tonight, through peaks and valleys, the strange and derange, and hopefully a happily ever after." The smoke dissipated, revealing a feminine form on top of the box. A white blouse, dark suit jacket, and eye-catching fishnet stockings made for an appealing sight. Bruce had been right, Zatanna had grown up.

And to put the icing on the cake, a top hat was sitting right on top of her lock black locks of hair. Even from where he sat, Bruce could make out the twinkle in her eyes as she looked out over the audience. She sat on top of a yellow and red-outlined box, one leg crossed over the other as she used one arm to hold herself up. Uncrossing her legs, she swung them over the side of the box and pushed herself onto her high-heeled shoes.

Waving to the audience, Zatanna greeted them, "Thank you everyone for showing up! Welcome to the Zatara's 8th Wonder Act. I am Zatanna Zatara and will be your guide through this magical tale we are about to embark." Stepping to a side of the box, she waved her hand to it, indicating that everyone should look at it.

On its own volition, the front of the box creaked and then fell open, revealing a rather unpleasant sight. A man was inside of the box, but he was clearly not in the right order. His head was beneath his torso and his feet were on his shoulders. Someone in the audience shrieked from the sight of it.

Zatanna looked at the audience oddly before turning to look at the box. Immediately, a hand shot up to her mouth as she gasped, "Oh no, it looks like Teddy is all out of place! Here, let's do something about that."

Kneeling down, she grasp the fallen face of the box and put it back in place. She then walked around to the back side of the box and placed her white-gloved hands on top of it. With a push, the box separated into three smaller ones, a collective gasp coming from the audience. "Now then, how should we arrange this?" Zatanna asked out loud. Grabbing hold of the left most box, she wheeled it around to the other side. "I'm pretty sure this goes here."

There was a cry from the audience as they urged her to keep rearranging the boxes. "No? How about this?" She moved the middle box to the outside, right to the left. The audience immediately called out its approval.

"I don't know, you sure this is right?" she asked them, receiving approval. "I don't think this is right. How about we do this?" Again, she went to the middle box and moved it, this time going to the right this time. The audience immediately cried out in protest, to which the dark-haired woman said, "You don't think this is right? Are you sure?" When they cried out their affirmation, she just shook her head and replied, "Why don't we find out?"

Pushing the boxes together, Zatanna then opened the front, letting it fall onto the stage. Instantly, a body came rolling out of the box, using the lid as a ramp down onto the stage floor. Teddy sprang up the moment he got his feet beneath him, kneeling on the floor as he threw his arms out to show he was perfectly fine, much to the surprise of the audience. A loud ovation echoed throughout the room as people clapped.

"Thank you, Teddy," Zatanna said as the man stood up and began walking away. However, her eyes sharpened an instant later and she grabbed her assistance arm. "Hold on a second, Ted, I can see something in your ear."

Leaning forward, she reached up to the man's ear. Suddenly, a white dove shot out, flapping up into the air as it flew over the audience.

Bruce watched in mild amusement, clapping his hands. Zatanna had gotten better since the last time he saw her. While she wasn't her father, she was well on her way. It also didn't help that he knew all the tricks, but that's not why he came. He enjoyed watching the success of others and took pleasure in it especially when it was a friend of his.

And he would have kept enjoying it had he not heard a voice over by the curtain. Jerking his head to a side, he tried to listen over the noise of the audience as Zatanna made the dove disappear into thin air. Slowly, Bruce got out of his chair and moved to the curtain, keeping his eye at its bottom. There was a small gap between the curtain and floor, which allowed a trace bit of light to filter through. That light, however, was being blocked by someone and they weren't being all that quiet about it; this was strange since it was well known that talking was prohibited once the show started.

Grabbing the curtain, Bruce shoved it to a side. On the other side, he saw a rather thick-looking man, a dark green coat covering his upper body and a clown's mask on his face. What drew the dark-haired man's attention, however, was the sawed-off shotgun in his hands.

Bruce shot his hands out, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun. An instant later and he jerked it up, slamming the barrel into the clown's face. The man cried out in pain as he stumbled backwards into the wall behind him. Bruce then pulled the shotgun out of the man's hands, which had the added bonus of causing him to step forward. Moving to aside, the dark-haired man kicked the clown's legs from underneath him, the man crashing to the floor. Gripping tighter on the gun, Bruce dropped to one knee next to the clown and slammed the butt on the shotgun on the thug's face, rendering him unconscious.

With a scowl, Bruce ripped the mask off, seeing the thug's face. He didn't recognize the man, but he was definitely of asian descent, possibly chinese. Standing up, Bruce began walking down the hall to his left, pulling out the shotgun shells as he did so and stuffed them into his pocket. There was a door at the end that would let him get out of the building, hopefully without any interruption. Something told him that a change in suits was in order.

* * *

><p>Zatanna took a bow as the crowd clapped, holding a hand out with a finger extended, her lovely white dove perched on it. She hadn't met an audience yet that didn't like her dove trick; unfortunately that made it to where she had to perform it for every show and the novelty of it had worn off some time ago. Still, it put butts in seats and she was more than willing to play the part expected of her.<p>

As she came up out of her bow, she made a subtle shake of her hand, which was a signal to the trained bird to go flying off stage to its cage. As expected, it fluttered off, disappearing behind the curtain. Alright, time for the next trick…

However, before she could say her line, something flashed in front of her. She heard a dull sound and jerked her head to look at her yellow box. There was something sticking out of it. If she had to call it anything, she had to say it looked like a card. In fact, she could just make out the jester face on it…

"And that's all we have tonight folks!" a new voice suddenly declared over the audio system. "It's time for the next act, so say goodbye to Legs the Magician!"

Zatanna looked over to Teddy, who shrugged at her. However, he froze as he stared at something over her shoulder. Frowning, the dark-haired woman turned around and saw a man emerging from off-stage.

He wore a dark trench coat and and wide-brim hat, which made looking at his face difficult. She could make out an orange vest and purple suit pants from underneath the coat;however, her eyes were drawn up to his shadow-shrouded face, only managing to see very pale, practically white skin.

"Uhh, can I help you?" Zatanna asked bewildered.

"Yeah, you can, Toots," the man replied, sounding jolly. His voice then dropped several octaves as he growled, "Get off of the stage, you're ruining my big opening."

Zatanna was taken back before she glared. "Hey, this is my show and if anyone is ruining anything, it's you."

It was right then when she saw Don, one of the stagehand, appear. He was walking up towards this rude guy, fully intent on removing him from the stage. "Alright, that's enough out of you," the bulky, bald man said. He reminded the dark-haired woman of a bouncer, which was probably why she had him as security for the stage should some drunk ass audience member decide he wanted to be part of the act. "We've got enough jokers around trying to share the stage with Ms. Zatara, so it's best you—"

Before Don got to him, the man reached inside of his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it right at Don. There was a shocked gasp from the audience as Don stopped in his tracks eyeing the gun. "I think you misunderstand, my good man!" the mystery guy exclaimed, that giddy tone returning to his voice. "I'm not here to share the stage! I'm taking it! Now be a good boy and sit…"

The man then squeezed the trigger, a loud bang echoing throughout the room as people screamed in their seats. Zatanna was stunned and horrified at the same time until she notice a thin rod sticking out of the gunbarrel, a small flag hanging from it with the words _BANG! BANG! BANG!_ on it. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, feeling her body relax.

"...down," the man finished, a smirk appearing on red lips.

Don also seemed to relax as his body sagged. For a moment, everything seemed to be alright until the mystery man pulled the trigger a second time. Another gunshot was made and the rod fired from the gun, impaling Don in the chest and sending him flying off his feet and off stage. He landed on a crate, lying still on it as the flag stuck out of him.

Zatanna's hand shot up to her face, covering her mouth one on top of the other as she stared in horror at the sight.

"Heh heh heh heh."

The dark-haired woman shot her eyes out to the murderer. His body seemed to be shaking as he chuckled lowly. It was infuriating to hear this...this...monster and his giggling, as if he enjoyed killing a man! However, his laugh didn't stay so quiet as he belted out loudly, his laughter filling the theater.

"HA! HA HA HA HA—!"

And then he went completely still, a hand suddenly resting against his chin. Zatanna could only see the back of his head, so she couldn't see just what was going on with this wacko.

"You know, that's not a bad name. Nope, nope, not at all." He then spun around, facing Zatanna and for the first time, she got a real good look at his face.

His face was completely white with sunken, dark eyes. His lips were a bright red that stood in contrast to his paleness and were wide open, revealing yellowed teeth in a large smile. His large, pointy nose practically twitched as he stared at her. "What do you think, Toots? Joker has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"

Not even waiting for a response, he swung to face the audience, lifting both of his hands up into the air. "Greetings Gotham! Joker here! Welcome to my coming out party!"

The doors to the room suddenly swung open, several men wearing clown masks pouring into the room, holding guns and knives and burlap bags. "Don't mind my ushers, folks! Tonight we are here to collect donations from the kind people of Gotham! After all, it takes money to feed starving artists, such as myself. So if you would be kind, take out your wallets, jewelry, and anything valuable that you would like to give to your favorite comedian and all-around best bud. But be sure to keep a couple bills on you so you can tip the waitresses! They're people too, ya know!"

* * *

><p>Joker's thugs worked their way through the aisle, pointing their weapons at the audience demanding them to empty their pockets. Crouching atop the scaffolding that held the stage lights, Batman watched them work. Every second they moved around sickened him, causing burning rage to well up in him. The terrified faces of innocent people added more fuel to his fury.<p>

However, this did lend to a unique opportunity. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out an oval device. This was a new piece of Waynetech being researched to assist the police in riot control. It was currently nicknamed a concussion detonator due to the concussive force it produced upon detonation. While using it around civilians was not his first choice, the fact that quite a few of the clown-masked thugs were grouping up around each other proved too tempting.

Grabbing the top, he twisted and heard a soft _beep_ in response as it was activated. Extending his arm out, he held the device out over the aisle, quickly calculating when to drop it. A couple seconds passed before he released his grip and watched the concussion detonator fall.

The results weren't disappointing. The moment the device hit the floor, it broke its outer shell and unleashed a powerful force. The clown-masked men were blown off their feet, sending them flying through the air wildly. There was a cry from the crowd as the concussive blast slammed into them, causing many sitting in the aisle seats to nearly be thrown into the air. Fortunately, they were only forced into the people next to them, yet they would be feeling concussion-like symptoms pretty soon.

As the Joker thugs crashed onto the floor and audience members, Batman pushed off with his legs on the scaffolding, leaping through the air as he aimed his fall towards the stage, his cape billowing behind him. The moment he entered the lights, his shadow encompassed the entire stage, slowly shrinking as he drew near. However, this alerted everyone on-stage to him, all of them looking up as he descended on them. One goon was looking right up at him, petrified as he began to let out a scream. Legs forward, Batman crashed into the thug, feet hitting the man on his shoulders and causing him to buckle down. The force caused the goon slam into the stage, breaking the wood paneling.

And that was another thug down. Staying crouched over the man, Batman turned his head to look at the self-proclaimed Joker. The pale man was surprised by his arrival, but something was off. Joker looked more confused rather than scared by the vigilante's entrance. His eyes were blinking as if he weren't sure what he was seeing.

Then, "Oh, so you want the spotlight too, huh?" he demanded in irritation. "Beat it Rodent-Man, it's my turn to use the stage! Stagehands!"

At his summoning, the rest of his men came rushing to the stage, climbing onto it and circling around. Much to his dismay, that circle included Zatanna, who was now edging closer to him, facing the men as she kept her back to him. Each thug had their weapon of choice in their hands, from knives to chains to a couple of 2x4s.

"Look alive, Gentlemen! We've got ourselves a pest problem!" the Joker declared as he stood behind his gang. "First one to exterminate the flying rodent wins a prize! Trust me, it's a goodie too, eh heh!"

One of the thugs yelled out before he charged, holding a 2x4 up as he closed in. Batman kept his eye on him before leaping forward, just as the man swung his club. Shooting an arm up, his forearm collided with the clown thug's arms, blocking his swing. In an instant, the vigilante rammed his fist into the man's face, snapping his head to a side. Using his momentum, Batman pivoted on one foot, bringing his other leg up and lashing out with it as he spun. The heel of his foot collided with the thug's head and forced him face-first into the floor, where he remained motionless.

That was when a goon with a chain attacked, swinging the chain over his head in a circle. He then swung the chain at the vigilante, who simply raised a hand up and caught it. Bringing up his other hand, Batman grabbed the chain and pulled out on it with as much strength as he could muster, turning his body to a side as he did so. The man went flying off his feet towards the vigilante with a cry.

Letting go of the chain, Batman then clasped his hands together, and then swung them at the flying thug, his blow ramming into the man's face and causing his head to stop in midair. This didn't stop his bottom half, however, as his legs kept going, flipping the man through the air until he crashed to the floor in a heap.

Behind him, he heard loud footsteps closing in. Spinning around, he saw a thug wearing a set of brass knuckles throwing a punch at him. Instinctively, Batman shot a hand up and grabbed the flying fist by the wrist, stopping it in its tracks. A second later, he sent a vicious uppercut the slammed into the man's chin and lifted him right off the ground. Releasing his grip on the wrist, he watched at the thug went over the edge of the stage and fall the long way down to the carpeted floor below. A moment later, three men sitting in the front row flung themselves out of their seats and jumped on the fallen thug, something that brought a smirk to the vigilante's face.

Turning back around, he moved to face his next foe, the man charging at him with a large wrench. He never made it to the vigilante though, as he one of his comrades came flying through the air and crashed into him. The two men fell into the floor in a heap, a pile of limp limbs as neither one looking like they would be getting up too soon.

Jerking his head to a side, he saw Zatanna facing them, her arms out as if she had been the one to throw the goon. Batman had to admit, he was impressed. The dark-haired woman didn't let it go to her head though as she spun around to take on another thug. Unfortunately, another goon saw this and rushed her from behind.

With a growl, Batman launched himself through the air, extending his leg out and ramming his foot into the back of the goon's head. The man collapsed to the floor just as Batman landed on it. Spinning around, he held his arms up and spread his legs out, assuming a fighting stance. Almost as if she had been called, he felt Zatanna back into him, the two of them standing back-to-back.

"Not bad," he commented to her as he glanced at the remaining men.

"You expected any less?" she replied.

That caused him to frown. Apparently time hadn't done anything to take down the woman's confidence. It was a big reason why she kept winding up in trouble back in the day. "Keep your guard up, Zana," he reprimanded her. "We're not finished yet."

He felt something brush against his back, possibly her hair, though why she was turning her head was beyond him since he didn't bother returning her look. Instead, he charged at one of the thugs, leaping up into the air as his cape spread out behind him. The effect caused the clown-masked punk to freeze as he looked up in terror at the vigilante's silhouette.

Swinging his legs up, he planted both of his feet on the punk's face, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor. The moment he touched down, Batman spun around to face his next opponent.

That proved to be a wrong move. The next thing he knew, someone had landed on his back, legs wrapping around his waist. The biting pain of steel pierced into his shoulder, causing him to cry out.

"I caught myself a wily one, boys!" the Joker announced next to the vigilante's head. So that's who jumped on him. Gritting his teeth, Batman reached up with his other hand and grabbed the man by his shirt. Leaning forward, bending at the waist, he jerked down and away on the Joker's shirt, causing him to flip over the vigilante's shoulder and slam back first onto the stage, his hat flying off his head and rolling along its brim down the stage. The landing knocked the air out of the man's lungs, causing him to gasp before he let out breathless laughs.

"What a ride," he gasped out. "Let's do that one again!"

Bearing his teeth, Batman stood over the crazed man head and slammed his fist into the man's face, causing his head to snap to a side, green hair falling out of place. With his other fist, he rammed it on the opposite side, forcing Joker's head to jerk to the other way. Punch after punch, he pounded the crazed man's face until blood and spit began flying from his mouth.

Unfortunately, this distracted him from the Joker's men, one of them reminding the vigilante of his presence by running into the dark-clad man and tackling him off the stage. Batman had to twist his body in midair to avoid landing on his bad shoulder, the knife handle still sticking out of his shoulder.

He landed on the floor below, the thug falling on top of him. Looking at the man, Batman grabbed him on either side of the thug's head with his hands and held him there. Tilting his head back, the vigilante flung his forward, headbutting the goon and then tossing him off of his body. Rolling to his left, he got back onto his feet, just in time to see two more audience members jumping out of their seats and flinging themselves onto the stunned thug.

Facing the stage, Batman ran at it, hauling himself onto it once he reached it. It seemed the audience wasn't the only people getting involved in the skirmish as some of Zatanna's crew had joined the fray. Joker's men were lying on the ground with stagehands on top of them. The only one not restraining someone was Zatanna as she had taken on the job of supervising her employees.

Unfortunately, none of the restrained men were the Joker.

Almost immediately, one of the stage crew pointed off stage. "He ran that way!" he shouted.

Nodding his head, Batman took off in the indicated direction. He had to worm his way through some of the equipment and props, but further ahead he saw a steel door slowly shutting closed. Climbing onto a crate, he used it as a launchpad to leap over the rest of the equipment and land next to the door.

Shoving it open, he found himself in an alleyway. Looking to the left and then the right showed no sign of the pale man, but a rattling sound soon directed him upwards, noticing a purple pant leg disappearing over the edge of the top of a building. There was a metal ladder right in front of him, right next to a dumpster, which the vigilante immediately began scaling. He reached the top in seconds, hands gripping onto the edge of the building as he pulled himself up.

Only to find the smiling face of the Joker staring at him, causing him to stop in his place. His brow was furrowed, mouth closed with the corners up, giving the vigilante a tight-lipped smile and a rather sinister look. "You're a persistent fellow, aren't ya?" he asked rhetorically. "I like that in a man, so I'll give you the prize I promised those useless bozos back in the theater."

The Joker pulled open his coat, revealing a purple suit jacket with a pink flower in the lapel. A second later, a green fluid shot out of the flower. Instinctively, Batman shot a hand up to protect his face, the fluid splashing on his arm and part of his cowl. A cloud of smoke erupted from his armor the moment the fluid hit, the vigilante realizing all too late he had been hit with acid.

A sudden pain exploded in his hand as the Joker stomped on his other hand. Jerking it back, Batman soon realized he made a mistake as he was falling back in free fall. "Have a nice trip!" the Joker shouted after him. "See you next fall!"

Batman landed on top of the dumpster a moment later, crying out as he bounced off of its closed lid and crashed to the dirtied ground. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he quickly removed his acid-damaged gauntlet, tossing it to the ground. It was partially eaten through, much to his concern. Thankfully it hadn't reached his arm just yet.

However, that hadn't been the only part of him splashed with the acid. Ripping off his mask, he saw it was also showing damage. Unfortunately, he didn't trust putting it back on in fear the acid finished eating through it.

Which left him in quite a quandary. He needed to get out of here before anyone saw him. While the Joker had a perfect bird's eye view of him, the only part he could see was the back of his head, so long as he didn't look up. That was also assuming the man decided to hang around instead of fleeing the scene.

Grabbing his cape, he pulled out a shuriken and ripped a strip from the cloth. Using the strip, he wrapped it around his head, covering his mouth and forehead and leaving his eyes visible. It wasn't the most ideal head covering, but it would do for the moment.

Picking up the ruined gauntlet and mask, the vigilante turned and made his way out of the alley, vanishing into the night.

* * *

><p>Zatanna's entrance onto the theater stage is a homage to the one she did in the Batman Animated Series cartoon. While all of her lines aren't the same, the "happy ending" one is most definitely from the show.<p> 


	4. Jezebel After-Party

Merry Christmas everyone. Hope you all have a good one; consider this my Christmas present to y'all.

* * *

><p>Gordon had always wanted to go to the Jezebel Theater. More than that, he had wanted to bring Barbara along to a show, you know, family bonding and whatnot. But due to his job as a law officer and now police commissioner, he hadn't had the chance to make good doing that.<p>

So showing up to the theater because of a botched robbery was somewhat of a letdown. He was here on business and not to see any of the shows. Pity, really. He was only in the lobby, but he had a feeling that Barbara would love this place. He really needed to make an effort to start spending more quality time with her. Before he knew it, she'd be going to college and he'd have an empty house to go home to.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. _Remember, Jim, this is official police business that brings you here, not the magic show. Hmm, was Barbara interested in this magic stuff?_

Approaching the first officer in his path, he made his presence known and asked to be briefed on what was going on here.

"Some clowns tried to hold this place up. Interrupted the magic show going on and went after people's wallets and stuff," the officer informed him. "They all keep talking about one of them who was up on the stage and that he killed a guy."

Oh great, so not just a robbery but a homicide as well?

"Tell me about the victim," he ordered.

"So far, nothing much to tell. Just one of the guys who works on the magic show. He came up onto the stage, the clown pulls a gun at him, and shoots him. What's odd is that it wasn't a bullet that killed him."

Huh? "Then what did kill him?"

"You know those fake guns where you pull the trigger and a thing comes out with a flag on it that says 'bang'? Looks like the perp rigged his so that the flag actually shot out of the gun instead."

Okay, that was really...strange. Creative but strange. "Did the killer have any connection to the victim or the show?"

"None that we have found. Looks like a random hold-up." The officer shrugged, looking frustrated as he couldn't give the commissioner the answers he wanted.

"Yes, there happens to be a lot of that going around," Gordon commented, recalling that the theater wasn't the only place being robbed. It was like all the crooks in town were coming out of the woodwork and breaking into places all over Gotham. He would be tempted to say this was coincidence except he couldn't afford to believe in such things. Unfortunately, there was little evidence of there being anything else behind it all.

So far only this robbery had a casualty, but that could change as the others were checked into and processed. Hopefully it would stay with only one.

A shame he wasn't an optimist

"Anything else you're not telling me?" he questioned.

"Well, the Batman showed up if that counts," the officer answered.

"Let me guess, the perpetrators are apprehended, a few of them needing medical attention?"

"Sounds about right."

"All right, get those you can to the station and don't do anything that their lawyers could use against us. Make sure they're Mirandized as well. After tonight, I want to be sure that we keep the ones we managed to get." Turning away, Gordon headed towards the main auditorium. There were a cluster of officers near the doors, two of the stagehands giving statements to them. He paid no further mind to them as he entered the auditorium, barely glancing at the empty seats with his sights trained on the stage itself.

So up there was where this all happened. He could see the men in clown masks going up and down the aisle, demanding wallets, jewelry, and whatever else the audience might may have on them. Hmm, that was a thought: was there something that would make this particular group of showgoers a target for a heist? That would need to be checked into.

In the meantime, Gordon would acquaint himself with Bullock's new friends. Looked like some kind of manager and the woman from one of the posters he had seen outside the theater. Looked like the dark-haired woman that declared her to be the magnificent Zantanna Zatara or something to that effect. If she was the performer, she would have gotten a good look at the man who was on the stage.

The murderer.

"Hey, Com'mish," the overweight sergeant greeted once he caught sight of him. "I was just checking out...uhh, looking into these guys. They run this magic show here and this little lady got a good look at the perp."

"Which perp would that be? The one that—"

"The one that killed Don and then rob the joint," the magician cut in.

Looked like the death of one her coworkers was getting to her. Best to be gentle...gentler than what Bullock was doing so far. He would admit the man who was almost his right hand man was a bit rough around the edges, but he meant well at any rate. The sergeant just wanted to get to the bottom of this as quickly as he did.

"Description?" the commissioner asked, looking pointedly at Bullock so as not to cause any confusion as to whom the question was being directed to.

"White, dark eyes—can't say if they were brown or gray like the kooks in Chinatown—taller than the missus over there," Bullock thumbed at the magician, "and a big smile. Evil, I think the word was used, that right?" The detective glanced over at the magician this time for confirmation and received a nod from the upset woman.

"Those are very...vague," the commissioner said diplomatically. No sense upsetting their eyewitness. "Was there anything specific about him, something that stood out?"

"Just the smile, Com'mish," Bullock answered apologetically. "That and he laughed after killing the vic. In her words, 'like he enjoyed it'."

Oh, he hated those types, the kind that killed people because they _enjoyed_ it. They were notorious to catch mainly because anyone and everyone was a potential victim. There was no connection between the killer and the victim. If those statements were spot on about that, this was going to be a tough one to crack. Either they got smart or they got lucky and caught the son of a bitch. Luck was more likely to happen instead of getting smart in these cases.

"Anything else?"

"Let me see." Bullock flipped through his notes. "He wore a black coat—trenchcoat most likely from the description—purple pants, and hat with a large brim."

"Purple pants?" he repeated, blinking.

"Yep, purple pants," the other man confirmed. Looking him dead in the eye, Bullock stated, "I don't know which is worse, the fact he's a murdering freak or has a terrible fashion sense."

Gordon grunted and turned to the witnesses. "If you can think of anything else, call me." He pulled out a card with contact information from his pocket, the card itself slightly bent with a barely there crease in it. He handed it towards the woman, but it was the man who accepted it. "Take care of yourselves."

"That's easy for you to say," the man grumbled as he tucked the card away. "How are we going to convince people to fill these seats now?"

"Jeff," the magician groaned, pressing one of her hands onto her face. "We'll get a packed show next time. It's me, you know."

Gordon couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn Jeff grumbled, "Oh I know, more than I like."

Yes, it sounded a bit callous that this Jeff was apparently more concerned about the magic show than the death of his employee, but the commissioner wasn't too bothered by it. Shock had a way of making people appear callous when really they were trying to make sense of something so senseless. Now, if Jeff kept it up a week or so afterwards, then it was time to get suspicious. For now, Gordon would file away Jeff's response for future use.

Gesturing for Bullock to follow after him, the older man stepped away from their witnesses and put themselves some distance away from anybody else.

"Did you find out anything else?" he asked in a hushed voice. "Something you picked up on?"

"Sorry, Com'mish, not this time," Bullock shrugged. "Jeff is kinda a prick in my opinion, but that could be the shock setting in. I sure hope the victim has a good life insurance policy."

"Check into that, will you? It could be coincidence that this robbery and homicide happened coincidentally with all the others." Yes, this could have been set up for a more sinister reason and it happened to have occurred when Gotham erupted into all this chaos.

"Will do. Been a crazy night, right?"

"From sounds of it, it's going to get crazier," the commissioner replied.

"You've no idea. I heard that at a few of the robberies, the perps were caught, but get this: they were all shot with arrows."

"Arrows?" That was yet another weird thing this night. It was also not part of a certain vigilante's M.O.

"Yeah, a woman." The detective gave a shrugged but his eyes told a different story. "Looks like we might have a bat wannabe."

Another vigilante in Gotham. Just what they needed.

"Keep it to yourself. Let's make sure it's a copycat first and not someone trying to take advantage of a bad situation. Best case scenario, it's concerned citizen helping out for one night and one night only."

"Doubt it," Bullock huffed. "So what else do you want us to keep hush-hush? The fact that Gotham went to the dogs, robbing everything from banks and stores, including gas stations and, heh, party stores?"

Again, the commissioner found himself repeating something the other man had said. "Party stores?"

"Yeah, you know those places that sells party hats and those things where you blow into them, it makes an annoying sound while sticking straight out? I heard those places got hit real hard. Everything from those birthday celebration stuff right down to the confetti. What kind of sick jerk robs a party store and takes the confetti?"

This was going to be a long night, it seemed. "So, clowns, vigilantes, and party stores getting knocked off. What more are we going to be dealing with tonight?" he wondered.

"Now you jinxed yourself, Com'mish. There's always the press; those annoying vultures are always where you least want them."

Ah yes, the press. He didn't have the best relationship at all with the press. That is to say he barely tolerated them on a good day and thought of ways to stick them in a holding cell on a bad one. It didn't help that he had to give a press conference every once in a while depending on what the case was and its implications.

Sometimes the press were worse than the scumbags they busted, but that was his opinion.

"Thanks for that uplifting reminder that there are worse things than clowns that kill. Despite all the questions they asked, I'd be surprised if a night like this one goes over their heads."

"So long as you don't do anything that Krol will nitpick at, which reminds me, I've been hearing about that one reporter, you know the one that took that picture of you last year? I hear she's been looking for her next big story. I'm thinking this is the kind of thing she's been looking for."

"First of all, Krol will always find something to nitpick. He's just looking for the next big thing that will allow him to fire me. As for the second, thanks for the heads up. She's not as sharp as Lane is, but she comes up with some damaging stories every now and then." Tell him about that one. He was lucky that mostly everyone had let the events of last year slip their minds. Occasionally there would be a rib here and there, but nothing he couldn't handle. However, Vicki Vale was the last person he wanted within ten feet of him. Actually, a mile would be better; she still did photos every now and then.

"Process this scene as thoroughly as you can. I don't want to miss anything. You can be sure that we're about to have a fire lit under our asses to get this case closed," he instructed.

"You got it, Com'mish."

It wouldn't be long before he began to regret those choice of words.

* * *

><p>Vicki could picture it now: Madman Holds Gotham's Wealthy at Gunpoint. Hmm, nah, too long. What about Stand up at Jezebel? Oh yeah, that definitely worked. The redhead just loved the double meaning of stand up.<p>

Weaving her way through the maze of police cars, barriers, and the like, Vicki was like a bloodhound on the search for her next story. If she didn't say so herself, she'd been doing quite well for herself since those dark days of exile in photography, a lot of which was in thanks to her pieces on the Elliot Pharmaceutical cover up. That had been a Godsend.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to completely seal the deal on that incident. No, it had nothing to do with the story, that had been great. It had been her use of Bruce Wayne as a source and potential...significant other. The reporter had thought everything was going well. She was doing her part to clear Wayne's name and rejuvenate her career, and then the bastard tosses her aside like one of his expensive skanks. That was still a sore spot for her, even after the year plus that had gone by.

Fortunately, her editor was more than happy to put her on Wayne Enterprises stories and Vicki had had her thrill of taking shots at Wayne when she could. Those had been satisfying for a little bit, but she always found herself right back where she started.

So now that she was put on this Jezebel story, Vicki couldn't help but feel refreshed with the prospect of a new project. She was well on her way to getting back to star reporter status, she just needed another big story to rocket her the rest of the way. Just looking at the scene around her told her she was onto something.

Vicki stopped in her tracks. Over by the entrance, she caught sight of Commissioner Gordon and one of his detectives leaving the theater, neither of whom looked happy. Oh, if the commissioner was here, then this had to be big. Eyes sharpening on her target, the redhead ran her hands down her suit and skirt, making adjustments and smoothing out any wrinkles. She had a lead to follow.

As quickly as she could on high-heels, the reporter gave chase after the commissioner, deftly avoiding any of the cops that could stop her. "Commissioner!" her voice rang out as she closed in on him. "Commissioner, do you have any comments on what happened here tonight?"

Gordon stopped walking and turned to face her, giving her an exasperated look. "Vale, get the hell off my crime scene. How many times do I have to tell you people to keep off my crime scenes?"

"Not important," Vicki waved off as she stuck her tape recorder in front of the older man's face. "There's been reports of some hold-up happening here, is that right? Can you tell me what went down?"

"I have no comment at this time," Gordon replied with practiced eased; in fact he sounded bored by it. "Now, I am ordering you to get back behind the police line and not contaminate my crime scene any further. Disobey me and I _will_ throw you in jail for contaminating evidence, Vale."

"Hard for me to do that when the crime happened inside the theater," the redhead retorted.

"The entire area is a crime scene," he rebuffed. "Inside, outside, you could be standing in evidence right now."

"Actually, it looks like she's standing in chewing gum," the fat loaf standing next to the commissioner said. If she wasn't mistaken, that was Sergeant Bullock.

Of course, that had the effect of Vicki snapping her head down and indeed saw that one of her rather expensive shoes was pressed into a wad of gum. Damn it, she just bought these!

Gordon, to his credit, just glared at Bullock. "And one of the perps could've been chewing that and spat it out on the way out. Now, unless you've got anything else to contribute, Sergeant, then escort Vale back to the barrier."

"You got it, Com'mish," Bullock replied before looking to Vicki. "You heard the man, back to where you came from."

"The people have a right to know what happened, officer," Vicki pressed on.

"And I have the right to walk around my house buck naked; doesn't mean I actually get to do that," the fat man drawled as he put a hand on her shoulder and began pushing her back to the barricade.

Ugh, now that was an awful picture to imagine. Regardless, there were other fish more willing to talk given the right persuasion. Vicki would play along for now, but there wasn't any way she'd let this story slip through her fingers. After all, she was the Gotham Star's top reporter.

* * *

><p>The red and blue lights of the nearby police cruisers poured into the theater through the open main doors. As required of her, Zatanna had given her interview with the cops about what had happened, and then promptly retreated away to find a place to think. Currently she was seated in the back row of the theater, staring off into space.<p>

_Keep your guard up, Zana._

The words kept echoing throughout Zatanna's mind. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that, and really, there were only a couple people that had. Her father had used it every once in awhile in private, mostly when he was feeling too lazy to say her full name, though those moments were very few and far in between.

The other person had been a stagehand that had worked under her father during her teenage years. He was her first crush and subsequently her first heartbreak that fulfilled the requirement that all teenage girls needed for angst. One day everything was going great; the next he just up and left; no goodbye; no I'll miss you; just gone.

She hadn't thought about him in years. It had to have been right before she got an actual boyfriend that he faded from her thoughts and hadn't looked back. Needless to say, she was very disturbed at the moment.

Who would have thought after so many years, the first time they'd run into each other was on a stage. Well, she had hoped to have done that once upon a time, but none of those fantasies involved them fighting for their lives. That also was assuming that the Batman was indeed the man she thought he was. The only thing she really had going for her was the nickname; that wasn't exactly something you used to prove your case in court.

Yet she felt it in her gut. This had to be him, it just had to be. Otherwise she was just imagining things and was making connections where none existed. Not that she had ever done that before...ever...

Her musings were interrupted at that point as a set of rather loud, approaching footsteps brought her back to reality. "Zatanna, I've been looking all over for you," Jeff said as he came to a stop right next to her.

"Well, you found me," the dark-haired woman responded, giving her manager a weak smile.

"That nutjob didn't hurt you, did he?" Jeff asked as he kneeled down next to her, looking all over her body for any injuries. "No broken bones or gunshot wounds?"

Zatanna shook her head, causing her long locks to brush over her shoulders. "No, he didn't touch me. I can't say the same for Don though."

Jeff's worried face sadden at that. "I'll handle everything with Don, okay? Make sure his family knows what happened and all that stuff."

"What would I do without you, Jeff?"

"Not be here," her manager replied as he hung his head, taking off his glasses as he rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was taking a lot out of the man.

"Hey, don't blame yourself for this," Zatanna immediately reprimanded. "How were you supposed to know some wacko was going to attack the stage? No one knew."

Jeff snorted as he placed his glasses back on. "This is Gotham. There's been all kinds of crazy stuff happening the last couple of years. That should have been warning enough."

"Oh? So you can see the future, is that it?" Zatanna raised one of her eyebrows up. "I'm pretty sure that's one of my tricks, not yours. And if you can see the future, you better go talk to those cops outside and tell him exactly where that crazy clown is going to be next. I'm sure they'd really appreciate the tip."

The corner of Jeff's mouth twitched up, which made his mustache wiggle. "Okay, fine, you've made your point." He stood up then, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. "We've got a lot of work to get over this incident."

"I'm sure you'll work everything out. You always do."

Her manager raised an eyebrow at that. "You think I'm gonna have to do all the work on this?"

Zatanna could feel a sinking feeling in her gut. "Well, yeah…"

Jeff shook his head. "Uh, no. Since you're the face of this troupe, you're gonna have do some of the heavy lifting. Most of this is going to be public relations and people will respond better if you're the one the talking. We've got to show that this incident was not our fault—"

"Of course it wasn't our fault," the dark-haired woman interrupted, incensed. "How does one loon attempting to rob us make any of it our fault?"

"We're a big attraction, no matter where we go. Right now, there are people not only in Gotham, but in all of our future stops that are going to think we're perfect to hit again. And if those bad people are thinking that, so are our potential customers, which will keep them far away. There's going to be blowback on this and we need to do everything we can to minimize it."

That was a good point. A very good point, actually. "So what do you suggest?" she asked.

Jeff sighed again, which once more put her on edge. That was never a good sign. "I think we're gonna have to bite the bullet on this one. Find as many of tonight's guests that we can and apologize to them."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

"And probably offer refunds."

That took Zatanna back. "Re...refunds? You're joking right? You've got to be joking because there is no way Jeff Sloane would ever think of that word. As a matter of fact, neither would I."

Upon seeing Jeff's face, Zatanna knew why she had that sinking feeling earlier and it had nothing to do with extra work. "Aww, crud."

* * *

><p>"Master Bruce, if I may be so bold, I believe it would be in your best interest <em>not<em> to bring evidence from a crime scene home, especially when they're embedded in your arm."

Batman glanced at the butler, raising an eyebrow at the older man's comment. "I get the feeling you think I did this on purpose."

"No Sir, I'm just simply commenting on the obvious," Alfred retorted as he rummaged through a first aid kit. He had laid out a couple rolls of bandages, tape, and thread. Picking up a small case, he flipped open a lid and pulled out a thin needle.

As the butler picked up the thread and began the very difficult process of threading it through the needle's eye, the vigilante eyed the knife still protruding from his shoulder. Miraculously it had managed to stay in, even after throwing the Joker off his back, being flung off a stage, an acid bath, and finally landing on top of a dumpster. Considering that he had even used the same arm to block the acid, he had thought it would have come out. Instead it only showed some wear and tear, spots on the handle having been eaten by the acid.

A loud slapping sound was made, causing the dark-clad man to turn his attention back to the butler. "Now then, Master Bruce, hold still," Alfred warned him, clasping his hands together to situate the gloves he had just put on. Unclasping, he then reached over to the knife and got a good grip on the handle, the other hand grabbing hold of Batman's arm. "This is going to hurt."

Before Batman had a chance to prepare himself, Alfred yanked the blade cleanly out. That still didn't stop the younger man from hissing in pain. Not even paying attention, Alfred ordered, "Take off the armor now."

With a grimace, the younger man pulled off his mask and dropped it onto the table next to him. He then pulled off his other gauntlet and soon the belt. All the while, his shoulder burned with pain, which he did his best to suppress. Injuries were part and parcel of being a vigilante and to complain about it would invite unnecessary teasing, something that Alfred would have no problem taking part of.

Almost reluctantly, Bruce began pulling off his body armor. Since he was going too slow for _someone's_ tastes, he was soon assisted by his butler, causing more pain to sear into his shoulder and another hiss to escape his lips. "Really Sir, if you're having trouble removing your suit, you may want to consider not getting hurt in the first place. I hear it does wonders for the body."

As the armor slipped over his head, Bruce bit out, "I'll be sure to remember that." Finally, he had a good look at his shoulder and the first thing he saw was blood. The outer side of his arm was painted red from it, something that Alfred just raised an eyebrow at. Reaching to his side, the older man picked up a small basin, a cloth bathing in a cool liquid. Picking up the cloth, be began cleaning the arm, wiping away the blood from his lower arm away and working his way up to the actually injury. Bruce kept silent while the man worked.

That was until Alfred applied some alcohol to the wound, causing him to flinch. "Apologies Sir," Alfred said with humor in his voice. "I forgot to mention that this would sting."

"You think?"

The butler ignored the jab as he glanced at the knife wound. "It appears you will be needing stitches, Sir."

Bruce sighed before he grunted out, "Just get it over with."

"Of course, Sir." A few moments later and Bruce felt a needle puncture his skin. He was sad to say this wasn't the first time he needed stitches and it probably wouldn't be the last. Oddly enough, Alfred seemed to think this was a good time as any to strike up a conversation. "So how was Ms Zatanna's show?"

"She was doing real well up until the robbery," Bruce replied.

"A shame that she couldn't complete the show then."

The dark-haired man nodded his head before glancing to the supercomputer. It was currently running a facial recognition analysis using the footage he had collected at theater. The best image he had was the one on the rooftop before the Joker sprayed him with acid. The white skin, the sunken eyes, green hair, and red lips made for very unique identifiers. Hopefully something would match in the criminal database.

On his own volition, Bruce said, "I haven't met a man quite like this one."

"I should hope not, Sir. If you had, I would be obligated to ask why you felt the need to have yourself committed. I had always assumed you would be an involuntary patient."

Bruce smirked at that. "Sometimes I do wonder if I should be committed. Regardless, his reason for robbing a magic show is strange. There are a lot more places that would be much more lucrative."

"Perhaps he had the urge to seek the spotlight."

The billionaire would've shrugged his shoulders had he been able to do both. Instead he replied, "That's as good of a guess as any. However, this wasn't his only hit. The GCPD picked up a surge of robberies at the time of the theater attack, eyewitnesses describing the perps as men wearing clown masks. If I didn't know any better, I'd say his appearance at the Jezebel was one big distraction."

"For whom?" Alfred inquired as he finished off the last stitch. "The police or for you?"

Bruce paused at that. Was it possible the attack had been just that, a distraction? According to security footage of the other robberies, the men had been in and out in a matter of minutes. Yet at Jezebel, Joker took his time. In fact, he hardly been surprised by his entrance. It was as if he knew it was coming, just not how. There was no panic, no uncertainty. Instead he accused the dark-haired man of stealing his audience.

"I don't like this," Bruce finally said.

All traces of Alfred's humor were gone as he agreed, "So do I, Master Bruce."

That was when an alarm went off on the computer. Both men looked to the monitor, the tight-lipped smile of the Joker filling screen. There was a transparent window that had popped up, revealing the results of the analysis. The younger man grimaced at what he saw.

NO MATCH FOUND


	5. John Smith

The crunching sound of gravel filled Zatanna's ears as she drove up the driveway. For such an out-of-the-way location, not to mention the very large mansion she was driving up to, she found it very surprising there wasn't a gate keeping people out. Considering what city was close by, you would have thought there would have been a state-of-the-art home security system in place. Then again, if someone was crazy enough to drive all the way out here, then perhaps they really deserved to stroll up to the front door.

Jeff, unfortunately, had been adamant in this public relations thing of his. He had the gall to wake her up at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, when it was well known she liked her beauty sleep to last well after ten. Some very choice words had been spoken and a lamp ended up shattering on a wall, but she had been dragged out of bed and forced into this errand. Which reminded her, she was gonna have to replace that broken lamp.

However, if her manager was dead set on this campaign and wanted her up at morning hours she usually ignored, then she was going to make it worth her while. She smirked at the look Jeff had given her when he saw just who she was going to see. It wasn't her fault she managed to draw the wealthier Gothamites—who just so happened to be single as well.

Funny how life works out.

Of course, what had started out as a major coup for her had ended in a countryside drive she hadn't quite expected. All the other rich guys were staying in high rises downtown, which made her first stops quite convenient. The last guy on her list, however, lived well outside the city limits. To be honest, Zatanna was a city girl through and through, so all the nature she had driven through had been very boring.

Coming to a stop at the end of the driveway, the dark-haired woman put the car in park and killed the engine. Opening the car door, she slid out her nylon-covered legs and stood up on her high-heels. Hey, if you were going to apologize to rich bachelors, you'd take the time to look good too.

Climbing out the car, she slammed the door shut and began walking to the front door. Zatanna couldn't help herself as she looked up at the enormous house. Already she could pick out architectural designs that were clearly from a different time period, not that she was into that sort of stuff. It was just one of those obvious things you could pick out.

"Alright Mr. Wayne, let's get down to business," she said to herself as she approached the large wooden doors. Jeff nearly had a conniption when he found out the dark-haired woman was intending on seeing Wayne. A lot of it had to do with the billionaire's playboy lifestyle, you know, the part about hitting on any woman that walked through his doors. Her manager had demanded that he do the business with Wayne until Zatanna pointed out that Wayne had bought an entire balcony seating. Those weren't cheap, ya know, so it would be best for them if Ms. Zatara herself made a personal visit with him. Her reasoning was just so stellar that Jeff had stormed out of the meeting.

Though, what had once been a day intended on flirting with eligible bachelors had ended up being spoiled. For such rich guys, they were quite eager to accept refunds. More than she would have liked had opted for their money and had left a rather sour taste in her mouth. You would think that guys with as much money as they had would be willing to let some of it go.

So now she wondered just how Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, would take her offer. Would he greedily take his money back? Perhaps make a counteroffer that ended up with him receiving some _special_ service in exchange for her keeping his ticket money. If that was the case, she hoped this guy was good-looking. Otherwise that wouldn't be an option.

Hmm, now why did that sound bad?

Smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her blouse, Zatanna reached up and grabbed the door knocker, lifting it up and pounding it on the door a couple of times. Letting it go, she took a step back and waited.

For such a big house, she had expected to wait for awhile before someone answered the knocking. Instead, she found one of the doors opening rather quickly, a distinguished, elderly gentleman stepping out and looking at her. "Maybe I help you?" he asked in a British accent.

Zatanna flashed him a smile. "Hello, Sir, is there any chance I can speak with Bruce Wayne?"

The man gave her a once over before replying, "To what business do you have to speak with Master Wayne?"

"I'm here on the behalf of the Zatara Troupe. Due to last night's...incident, we're going around to speak with our audience members that had to suffer through that, offer refunds, and the like."

"I see. Very well." The man stepped back, opening the door wider. Taking the hint, Zatanna strode into the house, taking in the main foyer. It was a large room, the floor covered in a purple carpet with a large W on it, and posh decorations hanging from the walls. The very sight of it made the dark-haired woman think of that age old question: how do the other half live? In this case, she got the distinct impression that Wayne was the other half and the rest of Gotham made up the rest. "This way, Miss," the elderly man indicated to a hallway.

Zatanna followed the man. "So what do you do here...uhh…"

"Alfred Pennyworth, Miss," the man answered. "I am the Wayne Family butler."

"Ah, so how long have you been working for the Waynes?"..

"Quite some time. I can remember a time where the current master of the house was not gracing these halls with the cries of laughter as children are wont to do."

Zatanna held back a whistle. The refinement of the butler gave her the impression he wasn't very impressed by such actions. "That's a long time," she settled on saying.

"Indeed." Pennyworth came to a stop, opening a door and holding a hand up to indicate her to enter. "This is the sitting room. Feel free to make yourself comfortable and I shall retrieve Master Wayne."

"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth." Walking into the room, she heard the door close carefully behind her. No slamming doors in this house, she supposed. Glancing about the room, she took in the carpet and furniture, the chairs and couches, coffee tables, and the paintings on the wall. There were a couple portraits of some boring old countrysides, with hills and flowers and that homely little cottage that was usually found there. She was a little more interested in the war painting that showed a long forgotten battle between French troops and...someone else. She didn't see any other flag around and there was a short guy with a funny hat on with his hand disappearing into his shirt. It had to be that Napoleon guy she heard so much, yet so little—hee hee!—about.

In comparison to her wait at the front door, the waiting in the sitting room took much longer. Perhaps Pennyworth had just happened to be around the foyer when she showed up, not that she was complaining. This autumn chill was getting colder and colder with every day, or so she thought. Good thing the troupe was heading south after this. Hmm, perhaps they should consider taking a short hiatus, considering everything that happened lately. The Gotham trip was giving her a sour taste that made her not want to perform for awhile.

Eventually, when she had her back to the door as she stared at yet another painting, she heard the door open. "The Zatara representative," Pennyworth introduced. Steeling herself with the upcoming meeting, Zatanna put a smile on her face and turned around.

She saw Bruce Wayne the same moment he did. Like her, he also had a warm smile on his face. And like her, his smile disappeared the moment he got a good look at her.

She imagined that he was going through what she was, that being the feeling of a semi-truck running her over. That face, that hair, that body. In a flash she was 16—though she was very sure she looked 18, thank you very much—again and there was a 19 year old John Smith standing in front of her, his white wifebeater sticking to his body from all the sweat he had worked up.

The two of them stared at each other, neither making a move or sound. Zatanna didn't even notice Pennyworth, she was so focused on John. Unconsciously, she took a step forward as she spoke, "John?"

That jolted John out of his stupor. "Uhh...uhh…"

Then again, maybe not. "John? John Smith?" Zatanna tried again as she took another step. "It's you right? I'm not imagining this. What am I talking about, of course I'm not imagining this. It's really you! What are you doing here? Do you work for this Wayne guy or something?"

John was still out of it. However, Pennyworth had stepped around the young man and gave him a rather skeptical look. "John Smith, Sir?" the butler asked dubiously. "Of all of the aliases you could have used, you used that one? Was John Doe taken already?"

That snapped John out of his daze as he gave the butler a dirty look. "I wasn't aiming for creative points, Alfred."

"Obviously, Sir. Even after all of the British literature I've shared with you, I had surely hoped you could have come up with a more personable name. It seems I was mistaken."

"Uhh, hello?" Zatanna interrupted, waving a hand out to get their attention. "Still here, remember?" Then, with renewed focused, she asked, "What are you doing here, John?"

It then occurred to her that perhaps she was using the wrong name. Considering that John and Pennyworth were talking about aliases, it really drove home that this guy wasn't all he said he was...you know, back then. "Is John even your real name?"

An impassively look appeared on Pennyworth's face. "I believe tea is in order." Then without a glance to either one of the dark-haired youths, he pivoted on his feet and walked right out the door.

Which just left Zatanna and "John." "Well, are you going to answer me or not?" she demanded.

"John" ran a hand through his hair. "No, it's not."

"Then who are you? The Wayne guy? Is that really you?"

He nodded his head as he answered, "Yes."

Zatanna stared at him before she turned away, pacing back in forth. "Unbelievable. Just friggin' unbelievable." She stopped as she snapped her head back towards him. "So you lied to us? About everything?" She felt a flood of anger begin to overwhelm her. "Who you are?" she demanded in a harsh tone.

Oh yes, old wounds were getting open in the worst of ways. Zatanna hadn't ever thought she'd see John...err, this guy again, but here she was, with him on the other side of a room, finding out that hey, he wasn't who he said he was. The hell!

When "John" still hadn't answered her, the dark-haired woman exploded. "We were completely honest with you! All of us! The troupe, my father, me. And you just come in, say you're poor kid that wants to join the circus, and we believed you!"

"Uhh, you're not a circus," the dark-haired man pointed out.

She threw her arms up in the air. "You get what I'm saying! Now...where was I?"

An amused look appeared on the man's face, much like the one he got when she had gone ranting back in the day. That made her pause. She was ranting, wasn't she?

However, instead of answering her, the man placed his hands in his pockets and replied, "How about we start at the beginning? Before you go on a tangent on how spiders are scarier than mice again."

Zatanna glared at him. "Hey, they are scarier with all those freaking legs and those twenty different eyes." She stopped. "And don't talk to me like old times! This isn't back then, ya know!"

"I'm aware of that," he said dryly.

"Are you? Are you really?"

"Yes, I am. I'd be moving your dad's iron maiden if it was."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Oh you big baby. It wasn't that heavy."

"You never had to move it, remember?"

"That's why we had you big, strong men to do it."

"I noticed."

And despite her initial anger, Zatanna found herself slipping back to their old, comfortable ways. It was nice actually. No one really talked to her like this, not in the years before they met, or after."

She sighed, her anger draining out of her. Why couldn't she stay mad at him? She was even justified this time. "You said you wanted to start at the beginning, right?"

He nodded his head.

"Okay then, go ahead."

He paused for a moment, as if he weren't sure how to go about this. Finally, he closed the distance between them and held out a hand to her. "Hello, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Zatanna accepted his hand and shook it. "Zatanna Zatara."

Bruce glanced down to her hand. "You still have a crummy handshake, you know."

"Oh, after all these years, the first thing you have to say to me is that my handshake sucks? Really? _Really_?"

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Considering you wanted me to show you how to do an appropriate one, I was expecting something better."

Zatanna blushed at that. It had been one of her bright ideas to talk with the guy and...maybe hold his hand? Yeah, it was lame, alright? But it had worked! That was the important part. "Well, perhaps you're just a crummy teacher."

"Apparently."

She shook her head, her hair brushing against her shoulders. "I'm just gonna come out and say this. Otherwise I don't think we can keep this going on." Looking him dead in the eye, she asked, "Why did you leave us, Bruce?"

The friendly look that had been on his face vanished. "Because I had to."

Zatanna stared at him sadly. "Why? Did something happen? Was it something we did?"

"No, not at all."

She continued to watch him, his reluctance eating up the both of them. He hadn't given her a good reason and it was starting to get to her. Just then, the moment she was on stage, back-to-back with the Batman, and he used that name. "Was it because of this Batman thing?"

He immediately shut down. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Zatanna stared at him for a moment before she scowled. She shot an arm out, hitting on him shoulder. Instantly, Bruce flinched from the blow. "Did that hurt? I hope it did. I've dealt with a bunch of your lies already and I am not going to take anymore."

Bruce returned her glare. "The hell was that for?"

"That was for pretending you weren't on that stage last night, where you were stabbed by that guy, _on that shoulder_." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Where you called me _Zana_."

He froze. Oh yeah, she had him cold. No way was he getting out of this. Glancing to his shoulder, she could see specks of red forming on his shirt. "So, are you going to keep playing dumb, or are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

It was then that Pennyworth returned, a silver tray in his hands with a pot of tea and tea cups on it. He took one look at the two of them and questioned, "Is this a bad time?"

Bruce glanced at him before replying, "No Alfred, I believe we're going to be needing the tea."

"Very good, Sir." Pennyworth made to put the tea on the coffee table, but Bruce stopped him.

"We'll be having the tea in another room."

"Very good, Sir. Which room will we be adjourning to?"

The dark-haired man's eyes flickered down to the floor and back up. Zatanna was confused by this, but this obviously meant something to the butler as he gave Bruce a hard look. "Is that...wise, Sir?"

"She already knows, Alfred."

Huh, was this about the Batman thing? Considering the looks between the two guys, that's what all this posturing was about. It had to be.

"And pray tell, how did this come about?"

"A slip of the tongue, unfortunately."

"And you believe she can be trusted?"

Zatanna rolled her eyes. Boys just had to play secret agent, didn't they? While she liked herself a good Bond movie, to actually live one was pretty absurd. "If you're asking about whether I know about his little bat suit and cape, yeah, I know."

Pennyworth snapped his head to her. However, instead of the prim and proper British man he had shown her earlier, he looked quite stern. If Zatanna was honest with herself, she felt herself straighten her posture under this elderly man's eye. Oh who the hell was she kidding, she was honest with herself and she indeed did her best to look worthy of whatever it was she wanted to be worthy of.

"If you deem this a wise course of action, Master Bruce, then I believe we have no other choice," Pennyworth said, much to Zatanna's relief.

"Alright, so where are we going?" she asked.

* * *

><p>Zatanna was in a cave.<p>

A dank, dark, guano-covered cave.

_Ewwwwww_.

Well, to be fair, the cave was pretty clean. For a cave. In fact, all the equipment down here made it kinda homey. Everything from that giant-ass computer to the laboratory stuff to that black car with the fins on it distracted from the high-pitched chatter of the bats above. It was all impressive stuff, yet none of those things really captured her attention.

"Is that a giant dinosaur?"

Standing in the darker recesses of this cave was what looked like a T-rex. You know, Jurassic Park and all. It was posed in what looked like mid-attack, or at the very least it saw something nice and juicy to eat and was getting ready to pounce.

"Yes, it is."

Tearing her eyes away from the dino, she saw Bruce sitting in a rather comfortable looking chair in front of the enormous computer. Faintly she wondered how much time he spent down here if he needed a chair with back support. "_Why_ is there a giant dinosaur down here?"

"My thoughts exactly, Ms. Zatara," Pennyworth added, leveling Bruce with a disapproving look. "I've asked that question many a time and as of yet received a satisfactory answer."

"We're not having this talk again," Bruce said, giving the butler a stony look.

Zatanna glanced over to the older man. "You guys must be riots at the comedy clubs."

"Quite, Miss."

"You know, I didn't bring you down here to make small talk," the dark-haired man interjected.

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "I figured as much. I never would have guessed you wanted to show me your dinosaur collection, though."

"I don't have a dinosaur collection."

"Could have fooled me."

Okay, okay, perhaps she was having too much fun at Bruce's expense. But look at this place! She was in a freaking bat cave with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets and what have you. It was a lot to take in and when the dark-haired woman found herself in situations likes this—not that she got into situations like this...most of the time—she needed to joke, make light of things. Be sarcastic and witty.

And if there was anyone who knew this, it was the man in the chair. At least he should have known this if he hadn't skipped town. Hmm, she was having a hard time letting that little event go. She was going to need some serious girl-talk when this was over.

Seeing the look on Bruce's face, Zatanna decided it was probably best if they got down to business. "Alright, all jokes aside, why did you bring me down here?"

Bruce was quiet for a moment before he answered, "You mentioned earlier about me lying to you. I wanted to show you why I had to." He gestured to the cave. "I hope this satisfies."

Zatanna gave him a pointed look as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Uh, no, it doesn't. It's not like you had all this stuff down here while you were having fun with the troupe."

There was a deafening silence then as the two stared each other down, Bruce trying to figure out what his next move was and Zatanna not giving him a single hint. If he thought showing her a bunch of fancy-pansy toys were going to excuse the heartache she felt, well he had another thing coming.

The impasse came to an end when Pennyworth cleared his throat. "If I may be so bold, perhaps I can explain what Master Bruce cannot."

Zatanna leveled her skeptical look at the brit. That was all the permission he was going to get from her.

"As you can imagine, being a masked vigilante is not a popular venture. The men Master Bruce goes up against aren't the kind to simply take their punishment and leave. If they were to know that it was him beating them to a pulp, there would be retaliation against him and his loved ones."

"Against who? You? That doesn't explain him leaving our troupe and giving a fake name. I'm sorry, but if this mask he wears is for protection, the only people he's protecting is you and himself."

Pennyworth, to his credit, didn't seem affronted by that. "We wouldn't be the only ones attacked, I'm afraid. Anyone and everyone that could be seen as involved with Master Bruce would be targeted, which includes his employees."

"Again, you."

"He means the employees at Wayne Enterprises," Bruce spoke up.

Zatanna was about to come up a really good retort to that when the impact of those words hit her. Anyone associated with the Wayne name were targets, whether they were involved with the vigilante activities or not. She was aware of crime families and their need to settle scores, not just with the person they felt wronged them, but with everyone in their vicinity.

"Okay, I can get that," she admitted. "But my troupe is not a Wayne property."

"Of course," Pennyworth replied. "Yet you have had involvement with Master Bruce. The skill set that he has acquired wasn't developed in one day. Any criminal would want to go to the people that helped forge him, which would include you and your father. At the very least, the young master offered you plausible deniability in the event such nefarious people sought you out."

Zatanna considered this for a moment. A long moment. Damn it, she wanted to stay mad at these guys. Why were they making sense all of a sudden? "You know, all I wanted to know is if you wanted a refund," she said after awhile, running a hand through her hair. "And this is what I get."

"A refund?" Bruce inquired.

"Yeah, for the show and all."

Bruce shook his head. "Keep it, you had a good show going up until then. It was a shame it came to an end as it did."

"Tell me about it." A thought then occurred to the dark-haired woman. This guy was the Batman, right? Surely he was doing some investigating into what had happened. "You're looking into that creep, right?" she asked with renewed interest.

He nodded his head. "I am."

"Got any leads on him? You're gonna take him down soon, right?"

Any hopes she had on a quick resolution were dashed when the billionaire shook his head. "Unfortunately, this Joker has covered his tracks very well. I wasn't able to get so much as a background on him. All I know is that he has some sort of plan going on and last night was the first step."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear, Bruce," Zatanna said disappointed. With a sigh, she then added, "Will you at least keep me up to date with it? I'd rather know the moment you catch this guy rather than finding out on CNN."

Bruce stared at her before nodding his head. "I can do that."

"Thank you." Finally, at long last, she felt spent. "Well, I think it's past my bedtime fellas. If you would be so kind as to show me how to get the heck out of here, I'd really appreciate it."

Bruce held a hand out, indicating the butler. "Alfred can show you the way." He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Be careful."

She nodded her head and followed the butler's lead. Once they had left the cave and entered the study, Pennyworth chose to get one last exchange in. "I trust you'll be discreet about this."

"Yeah, yeah, you can count on me," Zatanna answered tiredly.

"I surely hope so. I do not mean to be harsh with you, Miss, but certain precautions must be taken in this line of work."

Zatanna looked at the man dead on. She wanted to make sure he realized the full extent of her next words. "Mr. Pennyworth, I've been entrusted with the secrets of my father's magic tricks. An illusionist has to keep those things secret, otherwise there would be no magic left in this world. I'll admit, Bruce hurt me a long time ago, but I'm not about to hang him out to dry, not when it could cost him his life. So believe me when I say this: I won't say a thing."

Pennyworth looked at her, his eyes analyzing and calculating. "Very good, Miss." He then turned around and began leading her out of the study. "If it's any consolation," he added as they entered the hall, "He hasn't voluntarily entrusted anyone with this secret. It honestly seems out of character for him, I dare say."

"Oh? You mean he didn't willingly tell you about all this?" the dark-haired woman teased.

"Honestly, there are times it feels much like conscription. And like my service for the Queen, I do it willingly and without hesitation."


	6. Purple Vigilante

Happy New Years everyone. Hope everyone has survived the first hangover of the year, assuming that happened of course. Here's another chapter for y'alls enjoyment.

* * *

><p>"Do you believe this is a wise course of action, Sir?"<p>

Bruce looked to Alfred as the butler returned to the cave, having already reached the bottom steps. His footsteps echoed throughout the cave, creating a steady beat as the younger man returned to his thoughts. He had been pondering that exact question while Zatanna had been escorted from the house. It's importance was not lost on him.

He could feel it in his gut, this dangerous, worrisome feeling. It was ravenously eating up his insides, creating a sickness that extended throughout his body. Bruce didn't like it. This was uncharted territory for them and he had chosen, out of everyone on the planet, a woman he hadn't seen in years.

And one that wasn't all that happy with him either.

Yet, in all the time he had known her, she hadn't been vindictive enough to go out of her way to make his life hard. There had been many times they had argued to the point where either one wouldn't talk with the other for a couple days. But while Bruce had remained guarded around her, Zatanna seemed to blow it off and resumed talking with him as if nothing had happened. It was just who she was. But a lot could have happened in the intervening years, changing her to someone that would gladly try to get back at him. It was a bad situation he was in having to trust a memory rather than what was currently in front of him.

So it was with unease that he answered, "I don't know, Alfred, I just don't know."

"That would be a first in quite some time, Master Bruce," the older man said as he came to a stop next to his chair. "For what it's worth, I do believe she will keep our secret, at least for the time being."

"So then we need to make it in her interest to keep quiet," Bruce murmured as he stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular.

"Perhaps. Though if it wouldn't be too bothersome, would you care to tell me how she discovered your identity?"

With resignation in his voice, he answered, "What it always comes down to: a slip-up." Upon noticing Alfred's raised eyebrow, he explained, "During the Joker's attack, I used a nickname I used to call her. The moment she saw me in the sitting room and recognized me, she put the pieces in place and called me out on it. Even slugged me on the shoulder to prove her point."

"It would seem we need to work on your situational awareness," Alfred said as his eyes glanced to his shoulder. "You've been having these slip ups more and more, it seems." He then eyed his shoulder with a critical eye. "Also a quick assessment on your shoulder would be recommended. Hopefully Ms Zatanna didn't ruin the stitching."

"Considering our luck? I wouldn't hold my breath." Turning his chair around, he faced the computer and activated it.

"Master Bruce, the question still stands," Alfred gently reminded him.

Bruce sighed. "We don't have much of a choice in the matter. For now we can only put our trust in her and hope that she doesn't do anything rash. I don't like it anymore than you do, but that's the way it is. In the meantime, we need to get our ducks in a row and plan on the worst possible outcome. Make sure that Bruce Wayne was present and accounted for at times Batman was in action."

"Very good, Sir."

Reaching to the keyboard, the young man began typing in commands. A window appeared on the screen before him, followed by several more. Each had a picture of the men apprehended at the Jezebel Theater, along with personal information and their respective rap sheets. Searching through each profile, Bruce scanned for any common link. The first thing that jumped at him was many of the men were common crooks. Petty thefts, armed robbery, and the occasional missed child support payment made up for most of their offensives—nothing that suggested brilliant criminal minds. The presence of the Asian men caught his attention though. Most of them belonged to Loman's gang, which complicated the picture. Why would members of a mob family be working for someone like the Joker?

Clicking a few keys, mug shots of the apprehended men appeared, the pictures brand new. Many of them were bruised and bloodied, thanks in part to his own actions. However, when he came across mug shots of the men arrested at the other Joker robberies, he noticed a lot more blood.

Checking the police reports, he soon discovered these men had been attacked with a crossbow. In fact, these men had to be taken to Gotham General for medical attention. This he didn't like. There was another vigilante running about, another one he couldn't help but wonder if they were inspired by him—again. The last one hadn't worked out so well and he rather not have Gotham frozen again.

Between the new vigilante and the presence of Loman's gangsters in Joker's gang, Bruce felt he was going to have his hands full tonight. A patrol through Chinatown was a necessity and focused on one of his problems. Hopefully he would come across his other problem as well.

* * *

><p>It was late by the time Zatanna returned to the hotel. Exhausted, all she wanted to do was jump into a hot bubblebath and crash on her bed. They weren't big requests, or so she thought. You couldn't deny someone these things, right?<p>

Unfortunately, it wasn't to meant to be.

The moment she reached her room door, key card in hand, the door across the hall from her swung open, revealing a very displeased Jeff. If he had actually made the effort to wear a bathrobe and slippers and had hair curlers in his hair, this would have been a perfect scene for the late arriving spouse. Heh, now that she thought about it, that did make for a rather amusing image.

"You sure took your time," her manager said, arms across his chest.

"Well, I did have to drive all over Gotham," Zatanna responded as she turned to fully face the man, leaning her back up against the wall. "It wasn't like the city's rich and famous were in the same room."

"Like Bruce Wayne," Jeff pressed.

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "You trying to get at something?"

"Considering you personally chose to go see the city's greatest woman-eater, and with your relationship history, I just want to make sure we don't have to take another couple months off as you get over another break-up."

The dark-haired woman scowled. "That was a low blow, even for you, Jeff. Need I remind you that this was your idea. If you didn't want me going to Wayne, you shouldn't have told me I had to do this PR crap."

Her manager glared daggers at her, but gave in to her point. "So what did he say? He wants a refund too?"

Zatanna held her head higher as she replied, "Actually, he said we could keep the money."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage to get that?"

"I asked him, duh."

He shook his head. "You know, I talked to quite a few people today myself, some of them with lavish incomes. Maybe not in Wayne's income bracket, but they do pretty well for themselves. Did you know that most of them wanted their money back?"

The dark-haired woman nodded her head. "Same here, I had the same thing happen."

"And yet, Bruce Wayne didn't? What did you say to him to make him say no?"

Zatanna really didn't like the way this was going. Jeff could be a prick when he wanted to be, but he was really pushing her buttons today, especially after everything she had found out. Damn it, all she wanted was some sleep and maybe catch a Big Bang Theory rerun. That wasn't asking for too much, was it?

So, she returned Jeff suspicion when some very satisfying snark. "Isn't it obvious? I slept with him." Upon seeing her manager's angered face, she pointedly added, "That's what you wanted to hear, right?"

Suddenly, a door down was ripped open and Jane stuck her head out into the hall, hair curlers attached to her head. "You slept with Bruce Wayne?" she excitedly asked.

_Oh c'mon!_

This was not the direction Zatanna wanted this conversation to go. Unfortunately, the look in Jane's eyes told her that this subject was not going to die down anytime soon. Why was it her bravado kept getting her into these situations? Attempting to dispel whatever thought was going through her friend's head, she said, "Jane, I was being—"

"You know what? Nevermind," Jeff interrupted them. "You want to get yourself into trouble, fine; just keep it out of the troupe."

"Hey, that was uncalled for," Jane reprimanded him, standing up straight, her hands pressing into her sides. "When has anyone in the troupe let their personal stuff affect the business?"

"Hey, I have an idea: let's just drop this," Zatanna suggested. "There are more important things than this, like what's going on with Don."

The tension in the hallway seemed to collapse at that. Jeff scratched the side of his head as he said, "His family knows. Can't say the call was all that great. After the GCPD get done doing whatever it is they're doing with his body, Don will be sent to his hometown."

There was a silence that filled the hall then. It seemed like none of them were up for talking, not after bringing up Don. However, it needed to be addressed. Swallowing a growing lump in her throat, Zatanna said, "I think we need to seriously consider some time off."

That caused both Jeff and Jane to stare at her. Feeling the need to clarify herself, she added, "With everything that's happened, we need to grieve. I think everyone is pretty on edge and all and it would be best if everyone went home and didn't have to think about the show for a little while."

"I think that's a good idea," Jane agreed.

"What about the upcoming shows?" Jeff questioned. "We still have a few more shows to do."

Zatanna just shook her head. "I really don't know, Jeff. Just...cancel them or reschedule. Today has been a long day and we're all stressed out. I know I'm asking a lot from you, but everyone needs some time off."

Jeff seemed reluctant, but eventually nodded his head. "I'll work something out. Let you know what's going to happen."

"Thanks, Jeff. Now if you'll excuse me, I need some beauty sleep." Turning around, Zatanna forced her key card into the lock, seeing the green light turn on. Opening the door, she stepped in, just as Jeff closed the door to his own room. However, before Zatanna could close hers, Jane appeared in her doorway with a rather eager look on her face.

"So, did you really sleep with Wayne?" she asked giddily.

_Oh brother..._

* * *

><p>The metal prongs of the fork clashed against the plate, spearing through snaking noodles covered in tomato sauce. The fork spun, wrapping the pasta noodles around it, collecting sauce and small chunks of meat into it. The eating utensil then rose, taking with it a hearty mouthful of pasta that was directed into the awaiting mouth of a certain female lieutenant.<p>

Essen had to slurp some renegade noodles that hadn't been able to pass through her lips. Teeth mashed the spaghetti into something her stomach would be better able to digest before it was swallowed down her throat. The process would repeat itself again and again with each and every forkful she consumed.

Normally she'd be by herself when eating such a meal in the privacy of her home, but this was not her home. Nor was it any kind of pasta she herself made. And no, it wasn't that place and 62nd Street either. In fact, the man who sat directly across from her was responsible for cooking up the spaghetti.

It wasn't the first time either that she had been invited over to Jim's place for a home-cooked meal. It was a rare find to find a man who could cook for himself and the daughter who was currently over at a friend's house. Coincidence, perhaps? Nah, the girl was too young to be trying to play the old matchmaker game. At least, that's what she thought. She didn't have any evidence to the contrary yet.

"I know what you're thinking," the commissioner spoke up from his side of the small kitchen table. He looked up at her from over the rim of his glasses.

She shrugged at him as she took in another forkful of pasta.

"I shouldn't have used Ragu. I should have use Prego instead."

She held back a snort. Yes, it wasn't the best pasta she had ever had, but it was the fact that it was home-cooked that made it so special. As cops, it was questionable when and if one got have anything made in the home, especially in such a big city as Gotham. Usually it would be fast food or take out and dining took place at the desk or breakroom and not in the comfort of a dining room.

"I think the ambiance more than makes up for it," she told him.

"If that's what you wish to call it." Though his mustache obscured it, the detective was able to tell that Jim was hiding a smile.

They had grown quite comfortable in each other's presence, enough that they would invite one another to grab something to eat every now and then. It was kept on the down low, mostly. While she was sure that a few of the officers at the station may be aware of it, none had approached her about it. Jim either, to her knowledge.

Then again, he hadn't told her that someone asked him about it.

"Well, it's better than what I could pick up at McDonalds," she remarked.

"You're saying that like it's some sort of accomplishment." Okay, now he was teasing her. There was this twinkle in his eye that gave it away.

"Think of it this way, there's plenty of men out there that don't know how to cook." If he was going to tease her then she was going to give back as much as she could take.

"None of them have my motive for learning," Jim quipped back.

"Oh? And what's your motive?"

"Making sure that Barbara is that much less desirable. My little girl is not going to be easy for any boy looking at her wrong."

"You would think having the commissioner as her father would be enough of a deterrent."

"Not as much as you would think."

"So when are you going to let Barbara out on the dating scene?"

"When I'm six feet under ground and not a second before."

"Overprotective?"

"Not nearly enough."

Okay, now she was smiling. Time to cover that up with some pasta, there we go. Mouth busy for the next five seconds until swallowing. "Are you willing to compromise? I would think being six feet under ground is far off into the future. She'll be fifty before that happens."

"Precisely."

Jim was certainly in good humor today, though whether he was kidding or not just now was up for debate.

"But, I can see your point on compromise. So maybe when I leave the dating scene she can enter it," Jim continued.

Well, that was a surprise. "I didn't know you were on the dating scene."

"Neither does Barbara."

"Real sneaky, Jim."

Okay, it was definite. He was kidding. The twinkle that had been in his eye when he had been teasing her was back and in force. She felt so...warm. It was a difficult feeling to describe, but she knew she was feeling something and it was something that felt nice.

"Now that the love lives of the Gordons have been investigated, what about the one of the only Essen I know of?"

And that threw her for a loop. He was placing the topic on her now. She could play at this.

"So far, I haven't been reaping anything recently," she answered, ambivalent. "I do have an eye on someone. Nothing's happened yet."

"Waiting for him to make the first move?" was the follow-up question. She waited until after the other man fed himself a forkful of pasta before answering.

"I don't know if he's interested. I'm waiting to see if he's open to the possibility, but I haven't done anything to...advertise myself, I think the word is."

"What's holding you back?"

"A lot of things. But, if I were to make my interest known, do you have any recommendations?"

"The direct approach. It's how I began my first marriage," Jim answered straight away. Then, he added, "It's also how it ended. I'll be honest, relationships are not my strongest area. Law enforcement is easy and I understand that better. Maybe I'm not the best person to ask this sort of thing."

"I don't know about that. Ever heard of finding unlikely sources? Sometimes the most profound of advice can come from the person you least expect."

"Does that also go for crimes?"

"In my experience, it could go with a lot of things, relationships and crimes included." She paused as she filled her mouth with more noodles and tomato sauce, a chunk of meat also in the mix. "Now, whether I follow it, that is a different story."

"Either you have a lot of faith or none in my words of wisdom." Ah, she could hear that teasing tone in his voice again.

"So long as your wisdom is better than your tomato sauce," she quipped.

A chuckle made that warm feeling so much more cozier. "I knew I should have gone with Prego."

* * *

><p>Chinatown hadn't offered many answers.<p>

During his patrol, Batman had made sure to give that part of town his undivided attention. Instead of finding answers, he found a startling lack of criminal activity.

Like any good mob boss, Loman had a full-fledge racketeering ring. Local businessmen were forced to purchase "protection" from Loman and make monthly payments in return for the service. Anyone that refused found their buildings vandalized, their inventory stolen or destroyed, or their family members assaulted and harassed. More times than not, it was a combination of all three. It was a common problem throughout the city, though it had been on the decline lately.

That decline was very noticeable in Chinatown. While he would normally consider that a good thing, the problem came in that Loman had been relatively left alone during Victor Fries' mob attacks and Oswald Cobblepot's attempt to take over Gotham's underworld. His men should have been active tonight, throwing their weight around as they harassed Gothamites.

Instead, he only came across two acts of racketeering. Both times Batman had foiled the attempt and promptly interrogated the perpetrators. And both times he quickly learned that these men were on the lower rungs of Loman's organization. They knew nothing of what was going on aside from their scheduled routine. They were currently on their way to the GCPD for booking last he saw.

So while he was making his way across town, trying to fit in these new puzzle pieces he had collected, a scream had shattered the relatively quiet Gotham night. The vigilante had quickly made his way to the scream's source and wasn't pleasantly surprised by what he found.

It took a brave person to fight back against criminals and thugs. Not many people had the courage it took to face oppression, so when someone came along with the guts to stand up, it was a refreshing sight.

This wasn't it.

Perched on top of a building, Batman looked down into an alleyway. A small group of thugs had been manhandled, beaten down by the ferocity of an enraged bear. There were two people still standing, one being a friend of the fallen men.

The other was clearly a woman. She had a skintight black suit, a white strip running down the front of it. One of her knee-high purple boots was currently swinging through the air, ramming into the man's head and causing it to snap to a side. As the woman continue to spin, her cape flowing about her—one side black, the outer purple—she held out a bow staff in one of her elbow length gloved hands and swung it low, hitting the man in the side of his knees. The thug cried out as his legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground, his face twisted in pain.

She was good. A bit heavy handed in her attacks, but she had dispatched all of her opponents easily. As she stood up to her full height, her long black hair settling along her back, she seemed to stare down the whimpering man, as if weighing her next move.

Faintly, Batman felt an irony in all this. Here he was, watching this woman work, while at the same time his own watchers were out in the city doing the same thing. He had yet to successfully corner his watchers as they seemed content on simply watching him. Escaping their notice had worked a few times, but he had found himself doing it less and less, mostly because it took quite a bit of effort to do so and that work was wasted the moment some punks decided to rob a liquor store. He would of course go in and stop them, only to have the eyes back on him.

Shoving that annoying situation back into the recess of his mind, he focused on the present. The mystery woman had hit some switch on her staff as the ends retracted inward, forming a shorter weapon, which she placed behind her as it disappeared behind her cape. He had noticed a utility belt on her, so perhaps it had a place for this staff of hers.

It was then she extended an arm out. In her hand was purple crossbow and she leveled in on the fallen man. The man immediately froze at the same moment Batman stiffened on his perch. What the hell was she doing?!

His reaction was instantaneous. A bat-shaped shuriken went sailing through the air, arcing as it circled around to the woman's other side before it closed in on her. The projectile collided with the crossbow, knocking it aside just as the woman squeezed the trigger. An arrow fired an instantly later, its point hitting the ground and causing it to skitter across the cement with a loud clatter.

The thug looked genuinely surprised by this. Apparently he hadn't been expecting the sudden assist. Then again, neither had Batman. Standing up on his perch, he let his dark silhouette break away from the building's normal outline. The thug immediately noticed his appearance and froze for a second. "Oh Christ," he swore before he began scrambling backwards, giving up that awkward motion a moment later as he flipped around onto his hands and knees.

A bola was sent flying through the air, wrapping around the man once it hit, and ensured he wouldn't be escaping this alleyway. The woman noticed just where the bola had come from and jerked her head up to look at him.

This provided him the first good look he had at her face. He knew she had been wearing a mask, but her fighting had made it difficult to see just what she wore. The purple mask she wore covered the upper part of her face, leaving her nose, mouth, and chin exposed. However, he could see her dark eyes even from where he was standing. The mask itself circled around her eyes and onto the side of her head. It then extended upwards above her head, ending in points.

Grabbing his cape, Batman stepped off the building and parachuted down, landing on top of a closed dumpster and crouching down on top of it.

The purple-clad woman watched all of this and her face went from one of shock to anger the moment he settled down. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she hissed at him.

Batman returned her glare with one of his own. "That's my question. You were about to shoot a man pointblank."

"With a crossbow," she stressed, holding the weapon up so that he could clearly see it. "I was going to pin him to the ground with a shot to his shoulder. That's it."

"Really," he deadpanned before he turned his head to her discharged arrow, the bolt lying on its side on the ground. She followed his look and stared at the arrow as well. "Doesn't look like your arrows are all that good at sticking into cement."

"It would have worked if you hadn't knocked my aim off."

Batman returned his attention to her. For some reason, he was feeling quite irritated with headstrong women today. "All you would have done is cause unnecessary pain."

"Unnecessary?" she spoke, taken aback. Then with renewed anger, "_Unnecessary?_ Do you have any idea what these creeps do? Do you? After everything they've done, they deserve every last ounce of misery they get!"

He ignored her outburst. "Whoever you are, whatever it is you're doing, it stops now. It's one thing to take down a bunch of thugs, it's another to actively try and maim them."

"Which is no different than what you do," she retorted with a sneer. She was fully facing him by now, her arms raising up as she attached her crossbow onto her belt. "How many criminals have you sent to the hospital with broken bones and shattered kneecaps?"

Batman stared her down, noting how she was becoming more and more uncomfortable with his gaze. Turning his head, he looked to the other thugs she had dispatched, each one in various positions of unconsciousness. "Do I look like I'm complaining about bones?" he asked before returning his attention to her. "You and them got into a fight, they lost, end of story."

This made her pause, at least until he added, "But pointing a weapon at a fallen man when all you need to do is punch his lights out is uncalled for. That is what makes it unnecessary. I will not let such actions to go unabated."

Her anger came back in full force. "So what, you're going to police me now? Make sure I only do what you deem appropriate?" She snorted. "You sound just like the mob bosses, you know that? As long as everyone played by their rules, everything was good. Now you're trying to change everything to your rules."

Batman did not like that comparison. "If you're done lecturing me on proper fighting etiquette, I have a city to protect," the woman continued, turning away from him. She had every indication of leaving the alley, despite the fact that they weren't done.

"I'm not finished."

She jerked her head back, her hair flying over her shoulder as she shot a glare at him. "Now what?!" she demanded heatedly.

Instead of letting her behavior to get him, he gazed at the dark-haired woman coolly. It seemed a change in tactics was necessary. "What's your name?"

"Huh? My name?" She seemed stumped by this.

"Surely you have name. I highly doubt you're going around telling everyone what your real name is considering you're wearing a mask."

She straightened out her posture—false bravado. "You…" she trailed off as her eyes flickered from side to side. "You...can call me...the Huntress."

_Huntress? Is that really the best you've got?_ Then again, the press made up his name, so he wasn't really one to talk. Jumping down from the dumpster, he stood at his full height and slowly stepped towards the purple-clad vigilante. Their difference in height became very apparent as the dark-haired woman had to tilt her head up to look him in the face. "Now listen to me, Huntress," he said, his voice rumbling as he spoke. "You have one shot to stop what you're doing. I find you harming anyone again and I'll come down so hard on you, you'll be needing to eat your food through a straw. Is that clear?"

Huntress seemed stunned by the ultimatum at first, added by his advantage in height as he stood next to her. Yet, she wasn't one to let close proximity get the better of her as her features hardened. "Is that what the police told you the first time you ran into each other?" she shot back.

He decided to answer her question for once. "No, they shot at me. And that's what's going to happen to you," at this he raised a hand and brushed his fingers against the edge of her cape, "if you keep doing this. Quit while you're still able to."

Huntress jerked a step back, her cape fleeing his touch. "I think I'll take my chances," she responded stiffly.

A police siren decided to begin wailing at that moment, causing the dark-haired woman to turn her head to look for it. Batman turned and headed to a wall, pulling out his grapple and firing it up the side of the building. Hitting the retraction button, he flew up the side until he reached the top. By the time he touched down, he heard the startled gasp from Huntress below. Curiously, he turned his head to look behind him, seeing the woman looking this way and that. Apparently she hadn't heard his grapple go off, otherwise she shouldn't have missed his exit.

Turning away, he went in pursuit of the police siren. He wasn't done with her just yet and they would be having a meeting in the very near future.


	7. Her Name Was Helena Bertinelli

Her name was Helena Bertinelli.

Bruce lounged on the bench, one arm resting on an armrest, the other holding a bag of unshelled peanuts. It was a bright day today with very few clouds in the sky. It made for a convenient excuse to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap. Moving a hand, he reached into his bag of nuts and pulled a couple out, popping them into his mouth as his fingers brushed against the thin mustache he wore. There was a bus that was scheduled to show up in fifteen minutes, though he wouldn't be getting on it. He was just a guy waiting on the next bus, nothing more.

Or at least that's the impression he wanted to give.

After leaving the Huntress in that alleyway, he had some work to do. There had been a high speed chase in a nearby neighborhood, one that he put to a stop the moment he caught up to it. Smashing in the hood of a corvette by landing on it and dragging the screaming driver through the shattered windshield had been very satisfying. Then there had been a couple muggings that resulted in a couple men losing some teeth and a potential broken nose. Busy work for the most part, but it provided him ample time to wait for Huntress to head home.

He had placed a tracer on the inner lining of her cape when he had touched it. Batman checked its location every so often throughout the night until he noticed she was making a beeline for a particular neighborhood. Tracking it down, he found an apartment complex of modest means. After a confirmation of the apartment number and address, he returned to the cave for a quick background check.

Surprise had been the first thing he felt when he discovered the name Bertinelli. A little digging showed that Huntress was the daughter of Franco Bertinelli, former lieutenant of Salvatore Maroni. It was strange to see the daughter of a made man moonlighting as a vigilante.

That prompted him to do further research into her, such as how she spent time abroad, specifically Italy and Sicily. She had moved to Gotham a couple years ago, oddly enough around the time he had taken to the streets as Batman. Pure coincidence to be sure, nothing more.

Yet, despite her family influence, she had taken on a more respectable profession, that of an elementary school teacher.

Which brought him to this bus stop, right across the street from Bertinelli's school. Currently it was recess time for her class and her students were out playing. Bertinelli was standing by the school doors watching the kids with a protective eye. Occasionally one of the kids would run up to her, where she would bend down to their eye level and talk to them. Usually whatever she said would send the kid running off smiling, which in turn brought a brief smile to her face.

Bruce glanced down to his watch, taking note of the time, before he moved to pick out a couple more peanuts. So far, she seemed honest, if that was a word he was willing to use. She was nothing like that violence-seeking woman he had met last night. Another mask she wore in certain company.

He could certainly relate to that.

It was then a buzzing went off in his pants. Looking to his pocket, he felt the incessant vibration against his leg, prompting him to reach in and pull out his phone. The dark-haired man didn't recognize the number, but considering he was playing a role at the moment, he chose to answer it. "Yeah?"

"_Yeah? Is that how you answer a phone now?_"

Bruce jerked his head up, an unconscious reflex he regretted. He was playing a role at the moment and a man sprawling himself on a bench was not someone that flinched at a phone call. Well, maybe if his made-up boss or wife called, demanding to know where he was, then maybe…

Nevermind, he was getting too caught up. "Zatanna," he greeted. "Mind telling me how you got this number?"

"_Well, first I picked up a phone book, you know, since I was trying to find your home number. After that I called your house, but your butler guy told me you were out. So then he gave me your cell phone number and said to try that._"

"You could have said that to begin with."

"_I could, but then I'd miss a chance to build suspense and leave you wanting more._"

"Right. So why are you calling?"

"_Because we need to talk. Somehow most of my troupe thinks we slept together._"

Bruce paused before moving his phone from his ear, looking at it as if it an alien was growing out of the receiver. He kept staring at it until he began hearing Zatanna calling out to him. "_Hello? You still there?_'

Bringing the phone back to his ear, the dark-haired man replied, "Yeah I'm here. Mind telling me why everyone thinks we slept together?"

"_Not really, no. But it is getting a lot of attention and I figured I'd give you a head's up in case you heard anything about it. So we can keep out story straight and all._"

"We need to be keeping a story straight?"

"_Uhh, hello? Remember what I know? What you showed me? I'm pretty sure we need to come up with some cover story since I was at your house for so long._"

Bruce admitted it was nice to hear those words, that this woman was taking his alter-ego so seriously. Still, this call left much to be desired. "What was wrong in saying we talked about your refund pledge? I'm sure that would have worked."

Zatanna sounded sheepish when she replied, "_The thing is, I did try that. No one really believed that and...well...alright, my manager was getting annoying. So when he kept pressing me about it, I may have hinted that we had...sex. There, happy?_"

No, not really. Bruce could almost picture it in his head. Zatanna was standing in front of her manager, the two of them arguing, and she just blurted out the first thing that came to her head. She had been that way as a teenager and apparently she was still that way as an adult. Suddenly this identity revealing thing was not looking like a good idea.

Then again, it never really was to begin with.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his bag of nuts onto his laps and pressed the palm of his hand against his head. Letting out his breath, he finally said, "So then we need to make sure everyone believes I got you into bed."

For some reason, Zatanna seemed taken back by that. "_Umm, uhh, I guess?_"

"Then that's the story we go with. You came to my house, offered me your refund, I haggled with you and we wound up in my bed. Does that just about cover everything?"

"_I think so. Umm, what should we say about the sex?_"

Bruce dropped his hand from his forehead and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want. With my current reputation, I can say anything and half of the people wouldn't believe a word I said."

"_And the other half?_"

"Would come up with an even more exaggerated version. Honestly, there's going to be more stock put into your words than mine. If anything, your words will be taken out of context as well because it's me you're talking about."

"_Oh. Well, I guess that's it then._"

She was bothered by his words. He could tell from her tone, the way her earlier, chirpier octave had dropped to a more depressed one. It made him feel a little bad. Leaning back further into his seat, he looked up at the sky and pondered a rather dangerous thought. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"_Uhh, I don't think so. Why?_" she asked curiously.

"Because there's a gala being held and I need a date. Now, if we're going to cement this story of ours, logically it would make sense that my haggling not only got you into my bed, but a date too. The normal order of the date is backwards, but we can account that to my very convincing charm."

He heard a snort on the other end. "_You? Charm? Yeah, right. And I'm the Queen of England._"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

A few seconds ticked by before he got his answer. "_Alright, I'll come. But don't be expecting anything afterwards. I'm not that kind of girl._"

"Of course. I wouldn't think otherwise. Though, I will have to at least try to woo you."

"_Oh, I've got to see this. I'd love to see how you intend on getting me into your bed._"

Bruce grinned at that. "It worked once before."

There was a long silence at that. He could just picture the blush that was burning across Zatanna's face at the moment. It was a satisfying feeling, if he didn't say so himself. But like all good things, it had to come to an end. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. Take care."

And with that, he ended the call. He was sure he would hear about this tomorrow, but he doubted any reprimands she could come up with would be of any consequence. Looking across the street again, he noticed Bertinelli rounding up her students, ushering them back into the school. It looked like his observation time was up.

Standing up from the bench, Bruce began walking down the sidewalk. He'd be seeing Ms Bertinelli later.

* * *

><p>Vicki stared at her computer...well, more like she glared at it. Seriously, how hard was it to find information on a guy what with the connectivity and interactivity of today's digital world?<p>

The Joker guy, there was nothing on him. The redhead had tried everything she could think of, ranging from government databases, hitting the pavement in search of someone that knew an iota of this guy, and even a freaking Google search. And all she had to show for all that work was zilch, nada, nothing. It was as if this man never existed until he appeared at the Jezebel.

Which was wholly impossible. He had to have parents, a hometown, an _address_ of some kind at some point. As it was, it was like he was some sort of ghost that no one knew existed. Considering the description of bleach white skin, red lips, and green hair man, that sort of thing sticks out. That wasn't including the flamboyant clothes he wore either.

All in all, it was frustrating the hell out of her and all she wanted to do was go home and soak in a hot bath.

"Vale," a voice called out to her, causing Vicki to tear her eyes away from the insulting image of a blank screen on her computer monitor. Harry, her editor, was walking up to her with a spring in his step. That ass, what right did he have to be in such a good mood?

"So tell me what you got on this Jezebel thing," Harry stated as he came to a stop next to her desk.

Vicki resisted groaning. Of course the only thing he'd want to talk about is the very thing she hadn't been able to make progress on. So, instead of beating around the bush, she bluntly said, "I've got nothing. I've done everything I could think of and there isn't so much as a letter proving this Joker was around before the theater heist."

Harry frowned. "That's not what I wanted to hear."

"Hey, I'm not happy about it either."

"Well, I didn't give you this assignment for you to come up empty-handed."

The redhead had to bite down as she could feel Harry's dismissal coming, or at least his drawing of a line for her. Do her job or watch someone else do it for her. Neither of which were pleasant. "Alright, then tell me what you know about the Joker? You're about the only person I haven't asked and not gotten an 'I don't know' from. The government doesn't have anything, freaking Google has nothing, so what do you expect me to find when every source has been exhausted?"

If anything, that made Harry scowl even harder. "I pay you to find that out, regardless of any difficulties. If this is too big for you, then I'll give it to someone else. Now do your job and find me something I can print." And with that, her editor spun around and stormed off, much to the redhead's ire.

Oh, so he thought it was so simple. What a prick. She was sooo over tonight. Shutting down her computer, Vicki grabbed her purse and stood up from her desk, making a beeline for the elevators. She'd get back on this mess of a story tomorrow morning after some freaking sleep; it wasn't like it was going to walk off or anything.

Of course, she would've prefered a different sort of night, one that included fine wine, rose petals, and a rather handsome man, but that just wasn't in her life right now. There was some ball coming up if she weren't mistaken and she didn't have a date to it nor the right guy to take her. Damn it, if only things had gone the way she had wanted them to last year, she wouldn't have to be wondering if a press badge could get her inside or not. As it stood, the only thing left over from the shadow Lane had cast on this newspaper company was actually getting a date with the richest man in the city.

Reaching the elevator, Vicki hit the down button, pleased to find the door immediately opening for her. Stepping inside, she hit the 1 button and watched as the doors closed in front of her before the sense of falling overcame her. She was totally over tonight.

* * *

><p>The apartment room was simple. There was a main room with an attached kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. The usual furniture was all there, ranging from a couch, tv set, coffee table, a bed, a bedside table, and other such things. There were pictures hanging from the walls, showing the occupant in various locales. Italy, Sicily, and a few East Coast cities from the look of them.<p>

Batman left her bedroom window open, a breeze causing the curtains to flutter. He silently crept about the room, taking in everything. It all looked like a place an elementary school teacher would live in, from the furniture to the potted plants to the stacks of school work lying haphazardly on the coffee table. From what he could see, they were English papers, half of which had various red markings on them, indicating incorrect spelling and grammar mistakes. There were a few notes jotted here and there in cursive handwriting and a number circled at the top. It seemed Ms Bertinelli took her students' work seriously.

Giving another cursory glance around the main room, Batman returned to the bedroom. The bedsheets were rumpled, tossed aside without being made. If Alfred had seen it, he would've had a stroke then and there. There were even clothes lying about the floor. A lot of them. Blouses, skirts, pants, and underwear were scattered about, discarded without a thought.

None of them were of the ones he saw the woman wearing earlier in the day, so she wasn't out in Gotham in her other outfit. Now where did she keep it? Under the bed seemed too obvious, if not inconvenient. Still, that didn't stop him from kneeling down and looking under it, finding nothing but empty space.

Back on his feet, he moved to her partially open closet, pushing the flimsy wooden doors aside. She had some clothes, much of it suited for her day job. There were casual clothes on one side and her work clothes on the other. Her shoe collection was neatly organized on the floor, leaving room for not much else down there. On the shelf above were small boxes, none of which would have held her vigilante equipment.

So where did she keep it all? Returning the closet doors to their original position, he turned to search elsewhere when something caught his attention. In the corner of the room was a rug, a dull, circular pattern on it. On top of it rested another potted plant. It seemed innocuous at first glance, but there was one thing off of it: it was not in direct view of the window. Considering plants needed sunlight, its placement left it at a distinct disadvantage of obtaining it.

Striding over to it, he moved the plant and rug to a side. Beneath it he found a square outline in the floor, a latch towards one side. Noticing a lock next to the latch, Batman reached to a side pocket on his belt and pulled out a small box. Opening the box, he removed a thin metal pick and a L-shaped metal piece. Setting the case on the floor, he stuck the short end of the L-piece into the bottom of the lock, then the pick into the upper end. He searched for the tumbler inside, finding it after a moment and put pressure on it. At the same time, he moved the L-piece to the left, the lock face turning ninety degrees until it came to a stop. Removing his tools, he then pulled on the latch and opened up the square door.

And there it was. The purple costume looked back at him, folded neatly into a square. He caught sight of several boxes, a few of them containing metal arrows. He could see her retracted bow staff and utility belt, along with more boxes containing smoke pellets and throwing stars that were shaped into rounded H's.

The vigilante had his confirmation. Satisfied, he closed the trap door and relocked it, placing the rug and plant back on top of it. Standing back up, he walked into the main room, moving to a corner of the room and turned to face the door. There was just one last thing he needed to do here.

It was a while before he heard a key enter the door lock. The grating sound of the lock being unlocked was made and the door swung open. Helena Bertinelli walked through the door, a couple plastic bags full of groceries dangling from one hand. She shoved the door closed and took a step forward. Here she raised her back foot up to her back side, where she snatched off her high-heel shoe and tossed it to the floor. Her other shoe met the same fate a moment later.

"You keep late hours."

The dark-haired woman stiffed for a half-second before she whipped her head towards him, hair flying behind her head and smacking her on the side of her face. Her eyes were wide open as she saw him standing ramrod straight, his white lens staring back. Her grocery bags dropped to the floor, making a thud when they hit as she forced her body into a defensive stance.

"I'm not here to fight you," Batman said, keeping his amusement buried beneath his stoic front. He was at the advantage here and they both knew it. Still, he wouldn't put it past the woman to try and fight him off. It was obvious she considered him a threat.

"W-what do you want?" she stuttered slightly, her full attention on him.

"It's obvious, don't you think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Faintly, Bruce recalled saying those exact words recently. Incidentally enough, they didn't work for him at that time and they certainly weren't going to work for Bertinelli here. "That's not going to work, Huntress."

He couldn't have hit her harder than with those very words. One of her legs lost its strength, causing her to stumble back a step before she righted herself. "Hu-Huntress? Who's that?" she asked weakly.

Batman chose to ignore those words. "I found your suit, Huntress, along with a stocked supply of arrows. It's under the rug in the corner of the room. The one with the circular pattern and the potted plant on top of it."

Whatever defense she wished to keep up crumbled. Bertinelli's postured sagged as her head tilted down, hair masking her face as it fell over it. "How did you find me?" she finally spoke, totally resigned to him.

"I followed you. I've done a full background check on you, Bertinelli." Her body stiffened again, though this time the vigilante got the feeling it wasn't from shock. "Mind telling me why the daughter of a known mobster is running around at night crippling people?"

Her head tilted up and her eyes were full of anger, the same from the previous night. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Gone was the trembling school teacher and the raging Huntress was here in her place. "Why should you care?" she barked at him. Turning away, she bent down and picked up her grocery bags, carrying them into the kitchen where she set them on the counter. She flicked on a light switch and light poured into the room, beating back at the growing darkness in the apartment.

Batman followed her to the kitchen, removing a shuriken from a pouch and holding it hidden behind his cape. Standing before the kitchen entrance, he watched as she roughly unpacked some bags of vegetables, a carton of milk, and a couple TV dinners, setting them down on the counter. "I want to know why you're doing what you're doing. Considering your family ties, I find it hard to believe you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Bertinelli stopped her unpacking and placed both of her hands on the kitchen counter. Her head was low again and her hair hid her face. "Do you know what it's like, living with those kinds of people?" she said softly after several moments.

When he didn't answer, Bertinelli turned her head and he was surprised to see her eyes watering up. "I grew up watching my father threatening and beating people up. I actually watched one of my cousins shoot an old man in the face because he didn't have his protection money ready. I can still see Jimmy's face, laughing and spitting on that poor man's body.

"My entire family is mob, but you already know this. You probably already know just how arrogant and selfish they are. Every uncle, aunt, and cousin I have has a rapsheet, some of them reaching from the floor to the damn ceiling. And they were all proud about it as if it was some sort of achievement! 'Oh look, Ricky's in jail for robbing that piece of shit crack addict again.' 'Hey, Tommy's about to get out after that pig busted him for narcotics, someone should go pick him up.' That was normal. Normal!"

The dark-haired woman was shouting at the top of her lungs, facing the dark-clad vigilante. Batman remained impassive as he watched her outburst, soaking in her confession. What energy she had gathered though, began slipping away from her as she looked away from him and continued weakly, "I had to get away."

"So you left for Italy," the vigilante said.

"You know about that, huh? For some reason I don't feel surprised." Her casual admission was soon replaced by a heated rage, one she shared as she turned her scowling face back to him. "Did you know they're worse over there? I didn't think it possible, but I was proven wrong. They kill people in broad daylight, with the police right there watching them do it, and they still walk away without being arrested. The police force is practically owned by them, bought and paid for for generations.

"So I came back. My parents weren't too happy with me then, but occasionally they tried to reach out. Forced me to attend family parties and stuff. Each time I went, I kept seeing that self-righteous arrogance and self-importance, like they were better than everyone. I was drowning in all of that day after day. It was like there was no escape from them."

And then her tone changed. "But then the last one I went to, there was this crash. The next thing I knew, there you were, sitting on the table, staring down my dad." Bertinelli sounded awed at this. "You sucked out the life in that room. I...I never seen anything like that before. Instead of all the ego and the cockiness, I saw fear. _Fear._" She stressed that word, as if she were trying to get it through his head just how important it was. "I saw terror in my cousins' eyes. My uncles and aunts were shaking in their seats. It was like seeing a damn miracle happening before my eyes."

Bertinelli then exploded in excitement as she dove further into her story. "And then you were flying around the room like this giant shadow, taking out the guards before they could even shoot you. Then you dragged my dad out onto the balcony and made him piss his pants. You pretty much had your back open for any of my family to attack and not a single one of them stood up. They hid under the table like scared little kids. I've never seen anything like it before or since."

Then, as if a switch was flicked, her exuberant energy drained out of her, returning the dark-haired woman to her softer, calmer self. "So you want to know why I go out and bust heads like you do? That's why. Because you're changing how these criminals feel about Gotham. How they feel like they have to watch their step because you could pop out at any moment, like at my dad's party. Like you did five minutes ago in this apartment."

Batman had to say, it was a touching story. Had he been sentimental, he would have offered her a comforting hand. But he wasn't that kind of man. This was a woman with serious anger issues and running around through the streets of Gotham was not the way for her to work through those problems. So it was without remorse that he told her, "When I said you needed to stop, I meant it. You're going down a dark road and right now is your chance to get off of it. If I have to, I will stop you."

Seeing her clench her hands into fists again, he added, "I'm leaving the choice to you. You can ignore me and leave me no choice but to bring you down. Or you can restrain your aggression and try to find a more useful outlet for it. No more blood will be spilt on these streets, by me, you, the police, or the scum that walks the streets. Those days are over."

Batman turned away from her and took a step towards her bedroom. "It's up to you whether you find yourself on the wrong side of the law."

He was at her bedroom door when he heard her say, "I'll think about it."

Stopping, the vigilante turned his head and looked at her from the side of his eye. "While you're at it, think about those students of yours. I doubt they'd be happy having their teacher thrown in jail."

He then vanished into the bedroom, the room's darkness enveloping him as he heard a sudden intake of breath from behind him. Batman was at the window sill a moment later, a foot pressing onto it as he sprung out into the cool autumn night. Firing his grapple, he swung to the building across the street, pulling himself onto its roof. He didn't bother looking back as he disappeared into the night, even when Bertinelli stuck her head out of the window, searching for him wildly, and ultimately closing the window when she failed to find him.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in the dark-clad man's gut and he couldn't shake it off. His mind was conjuring images of Victor Fries, which intensified the feeling. There was another vigilante out in the streets, claiming him as inspiration again. By all rights he should have taken her out now before she went any further with this. Yet, there was something primal in her, something familiar about the anger that was driving her. It was like the anger that had drove him into this quest of his. A mirror image of himself in his younger days.

And on a level he was loath to admit he had, it frightened him.


	8. Gala at the Powers Hotel

It was quiet in the limo. It usually was, though, unless Bruce had company with him. That would be remedied shortly as he rode towards Zatanna's hotel. There was going to be a frenzy when he got there, most likely from her troupe as he picked her up, but that would be the norm for him nowadays.

"I must say, Sir, you've been spending quite some time with this woman," he heard Alfred say from the driver seat. The older man was in his chauffeur uniform, from the cap to the suit to the gloves, and he was looking at the billionaire through the rearview mirror.

"Having some doubts about her, Alfred?" the younger man asked back, lounging on the back seat.

"Considering the precarious ground we are on with this young lady, I thought it prudent to be sure that we should be showering her with as much attention as we have."

Bruce shook his head as he warded off the implications. "Zatanna can be trusted."

"Are you sure about this?"

Turning his head, the dark-haired man looked out the tinted window and watched as the buildings passed by. "I don't have any proof, " he admitted, "but call it a gut feeling. She's not going to turn on us." His eyes slid to a side to look in Alfred's direction. "Yet, it seems you have some doubts, old friend."

"To the contrary," Alfred rebutted him. "I only wish to ascertain whether you're committed to this decision. We're in unchartered territory and we cannot afford to make a misstep. If you are one hundred percent certain this is the correct path, then I support your decision."

Bruce nodded his head in acceptance as he returned his attention to the window. "Good point. Well, I believe we're going to find out tonight if we need to be proactive about this. Zatanna isn't one to hide her feelings, so if she's struggling with this secret, she'll be telling me...at great length...just how much it's driving her crazy."

He could feel Alfred's gaze even as it reflected off the rearview mirror. "And what are we to do if she proves insufficient?"

The young man let out a regretful sigh. "Something I rather not do for which she'll never forgive me."

"Very good, Sir." A moment of silence filled the vehicle. It wasn't until the butler turned off the road and pulled in front of their destination that it was broken. "We have arrived, Sir."

Bruce waited a moment before the car door was opened, a valet standing out of his way and looking expectantly at him. Swinging his legs out, he climbed out of the car and flashed the young man a smile. "Don't wait up, I'm here to collect a lucky lady."

"Yes, Sir," the valet replied and closed the door behind him. He then hurried off to another car to render his services. Ignoring it, Bruce strode to the front doors, allowing the doorman to open it for him, and entered the hotel. The place was nice enough, he supposed as he took in the main lobby. He certainly wouldn't be lodging here, but to keep an entire troupe together, this would do.

Making his way to the elevators, he hit the up button and waited patiently. It wasn't long before the metal doors slid open and he stepped inside. He hit the 6 button and drew his hands behind his back. Once the doors closed, he felt the metal cage begin its trek upwards. Eventually, the doors open and Bruce stepped out, taking a left and heading for the end of the hall before he was forced to make a right.

_One door...two doors...three..._he counted in his head until he reached the right door. It hadn't been all that hard to find after checking hotel records with the computer in the cave. The young man had taken the liberty of doing this when he realized he had no clue what hotel his date was staying out or her room number. So instead of calling her back, he just did the research. He was a bit curious as to how Zatanna would take to finding out he had tracked her down like this. Raising a hand up, Bruce rapped his knuckles on the door and then waited.

However, instead of the door in front of him opening, the one behind him did. Naturally he did what a normal person would do and look over their shoulder, and when he did he saw a man with brown hair and wide-rimmed glasses peeking his head out.

Now, Bruce would have just ignored the man had he not swung his door open further and stepped into the hall. "You're Bruce Wayne, am I right?" the guy asked.

Bruce kept looking at him over his shoulder. He felt a sense of wariness come over him. "I am."

"I'm Jeff Slaone," the man introduced himself, holding a hand up. Turning completely around, Bruce accepted Slaone's hand with his own. "I'm the manager for the Zatara Troupe," he added as they shook hands.

"Nice to meet you," Bruce replied pleasantly.

"Would you mind telling me what you're doing here?" Sloane asked him as they released their grips.

"Just picking up a date."

Sloane's eyes glanced to the door behind the billionaire and back. "And that date wouldn't happen to be Ms. Zatara, would it?"

"'fraid so." Bruce reached a hand up and pulled at his necktie. "I hope that doesn't inconvenience you."

Zatanna's manager was now glaring at him. "Actually, it does. You see, we have work that needs to be done, so Ms. Zatara can't go out tonight. You're gonna have to come back some other time."

The dark-haired man blinked owlishly. The hostility was a bit unexpected, though not surprising. Still, he had a role to play. "But she said she was available."

"I'm sorry, but she was wrong. I hope that doesn't _inconvenience_ you."

Okay, so the manager guy was obviously not a fan of his. That wasn't a problem since there were a lot of people that weren't enamored with him like many of those in the female population. However, it did cause some tension between him and the men, especially those that made sure to have a firm hand around their woman's waist. This Sloane fellow was just like that, though without a certain lady at his side.

Bruce was saved from having to respond to that when the door behind him opened and another person stuck their head out into the hall. This one was of a woman with a bandana wrapped around her head. "Oh, you're here!" she exclaimed before swinging the door wide open. Bruce had turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow at her reaction. He could sense from Sloane that he did not like this sudden turn in events.

"Well don't just stand there! Come on in! She's almost ready," the woman ordered, grabbing Bruce by his jacket sleeve and pulling him in. He wasn't able to see Sloane's reaction to that, but he had the feeling he would on the way out.

"I thought she was unable to go out," the billionaire commented once the door closed.

"Oh? Did Jeff say that?" the woman asked before waving it off. "I wouldn't listen to Jeff—no one else does, right Zee?"

"Yep!" Due to the small hall they were in, Bruce couldn't see where Zatanna was, most likely around the corner since he could see the bed and TV stand. Walking the next couple of feet, the young man turned to his left and finally saw the dark-haired woman.

She stood in front of a full length mirror that hung on the wall. She was currently situating a short-brimmed hat on her head, though why he had no clue. Brushing hair or putting on earrings, sure, but why a hat? People didn't exactly wear those at the gala they were going to.

Satisfied with her look, Zatanna spun around, her dark green dress flowing around her as she came to a stop in front of him, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. "Hey, you're looking good," she remarked.

Bruce smirked. "Part of the job description." His eyes drifted down from her face, taking note of the purple gem perched just below the top of her dress, right in front of her bosom as a white cloth strap emerging from it and wrapped around her neck before coming back to it. The white cloth also descended from the gem, running down the front of the dark-haired woman's dress.

"I take it Jeff was trying to run you off out there. Sorry about that, he's just overprotective."

"Like I said, part of the job description."

Zatanna returned his smirk with one of her one. "Right," she agreed teasingly. Their conversation didn't go much further than that as the two just stared at each other comfortably. It wasn't until a rough cough was made that their attention was diverted.

"Oh, sorry about that," she said as she looked to the other woman in the room. "Bruce Wayne, this is Jane Sizemore. She's one of my techs with the troupe."

"Not to mention the best darn light board operator in the country," Jane added smugly as she smiled at them.

"It's a pleasure," Bruce greeted her as he nodded his head.

Before Jane could respond, Zatanna spoke, "Well, I'm good to go." At this she reached out with one of her green, arm-length gloved hands and wrapped it around his arm. "Lead away to this party of yours."

"If you insist." With another nod to Jane, Bruce walked to the room door with the magician on his arm.

"You kids have fun now!" Jane called out from behind them, just as the door opened. "Don't do anything I wouldn't!"

"Don't worry, I'll have her back at a respectable hour," Bruce laughed as he moved into the hall. "Though I can't guarantee she'll still be respectable looking when I do."

That caused the woman's eyes to bug out just before the door closed. A glance to Zatanna told him she was looking quite the same way. Yet, it was with another glance that he saw Sloane standing by his room door, arms crossed over his chest, and shooting daggers with his eyes. Well, he had definitely called that one.

"Zatanna," he said lowly as he turned his look to the dark-haired woman. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The stupor Zatanna had found herself in evaporated at that as she turned her attention to her manager. "Going out for a bit. Don't wait up."

"I thought we discussed this already."

"More like you made up your mind long before I told you about this. Like I said, stay out of my personal life."

Sloane looked incensed at that. "You didn't even tell me about this!"

"I didn't? Huh, I wonder why…"

Bruce could tell this was going south really quickly. It was at times like this he found the best strategy was a strategic retreat. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Sloane," he said as he began walking down the hall, practically yanking Zatanna off her feet as she stumbled after him to keep up. "But we really have to go, so perhaps we can chat some other time? Sound good? Great. Have a good night!"

Zatanna just managed to get her footing the moment they turned the corner. Her arm tightened against Bruce's as she looked up at him. "What was all that about?" she hissed lowly at him.

"Which part?"

"Well, dragging me down the hall for one. And what you said to Jane. I kinda would like to know about that too."

Bruce smirked at her again. "Which one first?"

"What you said...I mean, the dragging...no, just what you said to Jane. I don't really care to talk about Jeff right now."

The dark-haired man just kept smiling until they reached the elevator, hitting the down button. He kept quiet until the doors opened and they stepped in, hitting the button for the ground floor. All the while, he could tell his companion was getting annoyed by his response.

Yet, there was a good reason for that. He didn't know who else was listening in to them and he wasn't about to say anything incriminating until he was sure they were by themselves. The moment the elevator doors closed, he spoke, "I do have a reputation to maintain. An innuendo here and there usually helps in that regard."

Zatanna frowned at him. "Is this some stunt for you to maintain your image?"

"Every time I'm in public I have to keep up an image. If I don't, it'll raise up questions, which will eventually lead to ones that I rather not have to answer. But that's not why I invited you out."

She seemed a bit disillusioned at the moment, whatever good will she had draining out in seconds. "It's not?" she mumbled noncommittally.

"I needed someone's company to make this party worth going to. I'd prefer yours right now to many of the people you're about to meet."

That seemed to placate her. "Well, I wished you had said as much. I mean, I dressed up for this—really, really dressed up. I might not have put so much effort if I knew this was going to be a dog-and-pony show."

The elevator came to a stop in its descent, the doors taking a moment to open. "Zana, as you're about to find out, this whole thing is a dog-and-pony show. For some people, they're just not pretending as much as others will be."

* * *

><p>Bruce turned out to be so right.<p>

After Alfred had dropped them off at the red carpet and into a blinding blast of camera flashes and a barrage of questions she could hardly make out, the couple had entered the Powers Hotel. According to Bruce, this "hotel" was more residential than pitstop for Gotham's glitz and glam. It was owned by the Powers family, who claimed several of the upper floors for themselves. The floor they were on eventually led to a ballroom where the gala was being held.

And what a ballroom it was. It was gigantic, one of the biggest ones, if not the biggest Zatanna had ever been in. It was filled with enough people to fill out two of her shows and still have plenty that would be stuck in the standing-only seating. The very wealth of the people here was enough to blow her mind. According to her date, there was suppose to be some speech by the mayor tonight and he had chosen to make it in front of the Top Two Percent, though the dark-haired woman was wondering if you could push that percentage to three at the moment.

Bruce led her into the throngs of people, smiling and waving to people he knew. Zatanna just looked around, soaking in the atmosphere and came to the conclusion that she needed her head examined. What made her think coming to this was a good idea anyway? Other than a rather handsome guy had asked her?

Hmm, she got the feeling she had her answer there.

"Frederick!" Bruce suddenly exclaimed and pushed her towards to some middle-aged coot with a hand on her bare upper back. She had no idea if he really was middle-age or a coot, but that was what she going with. "Long time, no see!"

"Good to see you, Bruce" Frederick replied as they shook hands. "I see you've brought a rather beautiful date with you."

Bruce's arm brushed against her back as he wrapped it around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. "What can I say, I'm a lucky man," he agreed. "This is Zatanna Zatara. Zatanna, I'd like you to meet Frederick von Oppenheim. We go way back."

"Nice to meet you," Zatanna greeted him as she held a hand out. Frederick von—yeah, she wasn't going to remember that. Fred it was then—accepted her hand and brought it up to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her gloved knuckles.

"The pleasure is all mine," he said with a smile.

And then Bruce and Fred jumped into some discussion Zatanna found herself zoning out of instantly. Instead she found herself looking to Bruce every so often and wondered how he could be so animated when talking. She had always know him as a closed-off person, so it was startling to seem him act...well, normal. It almost seemed wrong to see him that way.

It was then she felt someone tap on her shoulder and she turned her head. A vaguely familiar guy was standing behind her, looking expectantly at her with his rather handsome features and brushed blond hair. "We meet again, Ms. Zatara," he greeted her.

"So we do," she replied as she turned to fully face him, ignoring Bruce dropping his arm from her body. She was pretty sure she had met this guy recently, but right now she was drawing a blank. Considering he was at this gala thing, she probably had run into him during the refund campaign.

Oh wait, it was coming back to her. This was...Jerry. Jerry...Seinfeld? Nah, she would've been too lucky if that were the case. With a wan smile, she said, "I'm sorry, I'm having a little trouble with your name at the moment."

"Jerry Sommerfeld," he reminded her with a warm smile. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here."

"So am I. One day I was practicing my act, the next I found myself in a car being driven here and told to be on my best behavior. I don't have a clue where they got that I would misbehave, but I suppose it warranted saying."

"Quite," Jerry said, obviously not paying attention to anything she had said. "So how did you get in, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was invited." At this, she placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder and squeezed it. This caused the dark-haired man to stop whatever boring story he was involved with and turn his head to look at her. "Meet my date, Bruce Wayne."

Jerry's head rocked back as his eyes widened, much to Zatanna's amusement. "Oh, Bruce. I didn't know you were here."

"Oh, hey Jerry," Bruce greeted him distractedly. "I'll be with you in one sec. He then went back to Fred and resumed his story.

Jerry was quiet for a moment before he looked to Zatanna. "How do you know, Bruce?" he asked bewildered.

"You remember that refund offer we spoke about? Well, he was on my list, like you. After we talked, he invited me to this shindig."

"Oh." That was when the blond man gave her a sly look. "You know, if I had known you were available, I would have invited you myself."

"Well, Brucie here didn't and that didn't stop him from asking me. How does that saying go again? Nothing ventured, nothing gained?"

Zatanna had to admit, poking at this guy's pride was kinda fun. He had been one of the cheapskates she'd run into and was really a bit boring for her tastes. Seeing as there wasn't anything remotely looking like entertainment to her, she figured she'd take a little skin off this guy's hide, even if he didn't realize it.

"I see," Jerry replied then. "Well then, if you aren't busy later, how would you like to share a dance?" He then leaned closer. "Or we could dance now," he added in a deeper, huskier voice.

That was when Bruce's hand slapped Jerry on his back. "Jerry! What can I do you for!" he exclaimed, much to the blond's surprise.

"Hello Bruce," Jerry responded as he got over his shock. "I was just asking Ms. Zatara here to a dance."

"Sorry, no can do. I can assure you that her dance card is all filled out by yours truly. Better luck next time, friend."

"I see." He then nodded his head stiffly to them and said, "I hope to see you again," before walking off.

Once Jerry was gone, Zatanna looked over to Bruce and asked, "Since when did you decide to monopolize my dance card?"

"Right now." His hand then grabbed hers and he began weaving through the ground, the dark-haired woman following his lead. They eventually reached the dance floor and stood at its edge as the current song played, waiting for it to end. Zatanna had to say, she was surprised by this sudden change, but she wasn't going to argue. Dancing was a lot better than listening to inane chatter that she really had no clue about and Jerry could only entertain her for so long.

Once the song came to an end, the two of them walked onto the dance floor, moving to face each other and placing their hands on the other. Once the music started up, they began moving to its beat, Bruce taking the lead as they moved about the dance floor. It was enjoyable at first as Zatanna fell into her date's pace. But like all good things, it had to come to an end.

"So, you're having problems with your troupe?" Bruce asked her.

Zatanna sighed. "No, no problems. Just Jeff being a stick in the mud is all. Everyone else is too busy gossiping over how good you are in bed."

The billionaire raised an eyebrow. "And the verdict?"

"Nope, that's office gossip and you're not part of the office anymore."

"Then how about this: how are you doing?"

This time it was Zatanna's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm fine?"

"You don't sound too sure about that."

"Because there isn't much to say about it." She snorted. "You're not very good at this small talk thing, are you?"

"We can't all be perfect," he sniffed before he spun her around. Her dressed flowed with her as she moved away from him and then back. However, when she returned to him, he had her back pressed to his chest, her arms crossed over her belly as he held both of her hands. "But that wasn't what I was getting at."

His breath tickled her ear, causing her to flush. Many a lonely teenage night she had dreamed of having such a firm chest against her, this one in particular. To actually have that dream in the flesh was causing a rush of wish fulfillment to overwhelm her senses. Softly, she asked, "What were you getting at?"

His voice dropped, becoming deeper and gravelly, which sent a shiver down her spine. "You know what I'm talking about."

And the ballroom disappeared. It was as if they were all by themselves, dancing to an imaginary song. However, while she was still in her dress, the person behind her was not the tuxedo-dressed Bruce Wayne, but the combat-ready Batman. The touch of smooth hands were traded for leather gauntlets and smooth silk for rough kevlar. Even their smells were different.

Then the world returned to her and they were surrounded by trust-fund babies and businessmen. "If you're worried about that, don't," she answered him as she leaned her head back against his chest and shoulder, head tilted so that she could make out his face. He returning her look, making the moment all the more intimate when their conversation was anything but. "I have no intentions of saying anything—not to Jane or Jeff, the rest of the troupe, or even strangers around us. You can trust me with this."

Bruce's head moved slightly, bringing his mouth dangerously close to hers. "I do." His voice had returned to the lighter tones of Bruce Wayne, but there was a husky quality to it. She liked it. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Honestly, she couldn't say she was exactly thrilled knowing just what he was doing. Yeah, they hadn't seen each other in years, but that didn't mean she wanted to see him hurting on a nightly basis. It didn't help matters either when the butler was completely behind him, an enabler of a very dangerous hobby.

But for his sake, she'd keep his secret if only because more harm would come from it no matter her intentions.

Suddenly, dancing didn't seem to hold much interest for her. Zatanna drew her face away from Bruce, looking away from him as she kept up with his pace. They did another twirl that resulted in them facing each other again, but Zatanna choose to stare at his chest instead.

"You seemed troubled with something."

"A little bit," she admitted, "but it'll pass." She sighed. "You really know how to ruin a good dance."

"Just like my skills in small talk."

The corner of her mouth twitched up as she finally looked up into Bruce's eyes and saw the mirth in them. It wasn't much, but it was enough to finish the dance on a better note and she took solace in that.

Once the song ended and they came to a stop, Zatanna said, "I'm hungry. I don't know about you, but I'm going to the buffet table."

They released their holds on each other, still standing where they were. "I'll meet you over there. I have to mingle a bit," he replied with a bit of a grimace in his face.

The dark-haired woman raised a hand and patted his chest. "There, there, you can do it. Those mean old socialites won't cannibalize you. Maybe make fun of your tux, but I'm sure you can recover from such scorn."

Bruce was smiling at her. "What's wrong with my tux?"

"The tie, it's hideous. I can't believe Pennyworth let you walk out of the house with it."

"Alfred," he corrected her with a chuckle. "I'll be sure to let him know his fashion sense is out of date."

"You do that." Turning, she walked into the crowd and made her way to the food. Admittedly she had no idea where she was going and figured she'd run into it soon enough, assuming she didn't just go straight into a wall. Thankfully she picked up on some rather appealing scents and she followed her nose to an assortment of appetizers and crab cakes. Mmm, crab cakes.

Grabbing a small paper plate, she loaded it with some finger foods before stepping away from the buffet table. Picking up one of the sandwiches, she bit into it and watched the chattering throngs. Perhaps in a little bit, she and Bruce could have a more enjoyable dance, once she was done filling her belly. It was like watching an alien world, where people she didn't recognized fawned over themselves with gusto. Kinda reminded her of a frat party she once crashed, just without the shouts of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" to make it interesting.

Spotting a server carrying a tray with something hopefully alcoholic, she waited for the young man to walk by her and snagged one of the glasses. Taking a sip from it, she found she had a passable wine and took a bigger drink from it.

"Hello."

Bringing her wine glass down, Zatanna turned her head to find a red-haired woman standing nearby, looking right at her. She was wearing a tight, black dress and was casually holding her own glass of wine. "I don't believe we've met," she said.

Zatanna glanced down to her plate and glass and decided it wasn't worth juggling them to be nice. "Zatanna Zatara. Nice to meet you."

"Veronica Vreeland," the redhead replied. "So, I noticed you dancing with Brucie."

"Sure was."

"I couldn't help but notice how close you two seemed. Is there something going on between you two?"

Zatanna shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know. But maybe we'll see; depends on how the night goes."

Veronica nodded her head in agreement. "So you're his latest fling. Good to know."

_Fling?_ Zatanna let her eyes drift to a side as she contemplated that before returning them to the woman. "Mind expanding on that a little?"

"Oh, I've seen him come to this parties with all sorts of girls," Veronica said, very nonchalant. "Rarely have I seen him with the same girl on his arm. Very uninteresting people, if you catch my drift."

There was an insult in there and Zatanna was pretty sure it was being directed at her. "So, none of them could pull a rabbit out of their hat?"

Veronica looked at her oddly. "I...can't really say."

"Really? No rabbits? What about doves? Surely they could do that."

"I don't think so, no."

"Shame," Zatanna shrugged as she took another sip from her glass. "I bet that would've made them so much more interesting. I know it does for me."

"Oh, so you're some sort of magician?"

"Guilty as charged. My hands are full at the moment though, so I apologize that I can't show you any tricks. Besides, I don't do freebies."

"Quite," she drolled, which made the dark-haired woman wondered if all these rich people liked that word. It was as if they had no back-up words to when their usual repertoire of words failed them. "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't get too attached. Who knows how long Brucie will stay interested in you."

"And I'll be heartbroken if that day comes," Zatanna waved off, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. "But I'm sure there's plenty of guys around willing to help me through it. Perhaps you know of some that can help me."

"I may," the redhead said coyly. "But I don't think they'd be all that interested."

"Oh, well that's their loss then." Zatanna turned her gaze to the crowd, hoping to find Bruce. This conversation was going to the pits and she really wanted a quick getaway. Now where was that man when you needed him? Did she need to find another mugger to get him to show up? Maybe she needed to get the redhead here to mug her, that should work.

"I have to say, you've got a lot of confidence," Veronica complimented her. "Not many of Brucie's dates had it."

Oh, and she was still talking. "What can I say, I'm a lucky girl."

"Yes, you are."

Zatanna's head perked up and she turned to find Bruce standing behind her. Ha, knew she recognized that deep baritone. "I was just looking for you," she said to him.

"Lucky me."

"Hey, Bruce," Veronica spoke up then, taking a step closer to them.

Bruce looked over to her and smiled. "Hey Ronnie. You're looking ravishing as always."

The redhead practically preened at the compliment, much to Zatanna's annoyance. "I was hoping to see you here. It's been far too long," the woman said sultrily. "Daddy says hi."

"We need to catch up," the dark-haired man replied. "Though I'm a bit busy right now. I'll give you a call tomorrow and we'll work something out."

"Are you sure?" Veronica pouted, her eyes darting to Zatanna. "I'm actually free tonight. We could go for some dinner at L'élite. What do you think?"

"Sorry, long night tonight," Bruce said apologetically.

"Fine, I'll talk to you tomorrow then," she said, her interest clearly gone. Taking that as his cue, Bruce wrapped an arm around Zatanna's waist and began to lead her away, the two disappearing into the crowd.

"So you know each other," the dark-haired woman spoke, an attempt at making conversation.

"We run in the same circles, yes," Bruce answered her, his flirty tone gone. "She's always been more interested in the thrill of the hunt than the spoils."

"Spoken from experience?"

"Well, I may have allowed myself to be hunted once or twice," he admitted. "But alas, I remain free."

"Alright then, Free Brucie, I think you've had enough fun here," Zatanna said. "Now, either take me for another dance, or get us out of here."

"Those are my only options?"

"Choose wisely. The fate of your next belt notch hangs in the balance."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up. "Considering I overheard one of the mayor's aides saying the mayor hasn't shown up yet, I suppose I'll be taking you up on the dance. Wouldn't be too sporting of us to leave before the great speech is made."

"So it's a decision by default huh? Careful, you're dangerously leaning towards being unlucky tonight."

"We'll just have to work on that, won't we."

* * *

><p>Zatanna's dressed is based on one she wore in the comics. Couldn't tell you what issue, but it looked suitable for the occasion and I honestly ain't all that familiar with women's fashion. Kinda a running theme for me actually...<p> 


	9. Siege at City Hall

Bruce held the door open for Zatanna as she entered the lobby of her hotel. They had left earlier than anticipated, what with the mayor pulling a no-show at his own arranged gala. Quite a few of Gotham's wealthy had begun grumbling at the politician's perceived slight at their importance and the dark-haired couple felt it was as good of a time as any to make an exit. Besides, who wanted to listen to irate rich people grumbling over tardiness?

Bruce was quite surprise he had actually kept his promise to Zatanna's manager since it wasn't even past ten at night. That sort of ruled out any sort of imagined debauchery people could invent about him for at least tonight. Zatanna didn't seem to mind their early arrival either, seeing as she had been itching to get out of that ballroom for quite awhile.

"I have to say Bruce, that was a complete waste of my time," the dark-haired woman said as he stepped in behind her. "I mean, I've had some bad dates before, but none of them went to the effort of actually taking me to such a fancy place and had the whole thing blow up in their faces."

"Well, I have to make an impression somehow," Bruce replied as he moved up beside her. "If it was a good date, then you'd hardly remember it."

"I highly doubt that. I should tell you though, I don't give second dates after I've had a bad one."

"Pity, and here I was about to invite you to the Walters' Fundraiser next week."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "I won't even be in Gotham next week. Duty calls and all, and I have a day job I have to keep up if I want to keep food on my table."

"Then I suppose I need to at least give you a better send off than tonight."

"Send off, huh? What do you have in mind?"

"Something private, without prying eyes. I'm sure we can work out the details at a later time, after you've successfully purged my failure tonight from your mind."

"Oooh, giving me an incentive huh? I might consider cutting you some slack then, provided you do a hell of a lot better. You come up with some lame brain attempt at an apology date and I promise you your foot's gonna hurt after I stab it with my shoe heel."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up as he glanced at the woman from the corner of his eye. "Trust me, I learn from my mistakes."

He noticed Zatanna turning her body towards him as she leveled him with a half-lidded gaze, her mouth perked up in a teasing smile. "You know, you can be charming when you want to be."

Bruce turned his head fully to face her. "I have my moments."

Unfortunately, this moment stopped when the sound of a large screen TV in the lobby suddenly changed its broadcast to that of a woman sitting at a desk, a banner at the bottom of the screen declaring _BREAKING NEWS_.

"_We apologize for interrupting tonight's scheduled broadcast for this breaking news,_" the woman said urgently, attracted the dark-haired man's attention. "_Channel 6 has just received this video that was released to the press moments ago. We'd like to warn you that what you are about to see contains violence and is not suitable for younger viewers._"

"Is something wrong?" Zatanna asked as she frowned at him. Bruce merely raised a hand up to quiet her as he took a couple slow steps towards the television.

The picture immediately changed to an office and one that looked wrecked. Papers and folders were scattered on the floor and a large desk had been forced against a wall, standing up in the air as it rested on one of its sides. There were a few elongated air tanks lining the far wall, crude graffiti spray painted on the walls and hanging picture frames. Smiles and the words HA! HA! were drawn from spray paint.

And sitting in a large leather chair was a purple-suited Joker, a large smile on his face that showed all of his yellowed teeth. "_Greetings Gotham, your lord and master Joker hails you tonight with an important announcement,_" the white-faced man greeted the camera, his tone low and gravelly.

"_Tonight is a special night for the city and_—" He suddenly stopped talking and began convulsing in the chair, his body wracking with a severe cough. "_Cough! Cough! Oh dear me!_" the green-haired man exclaimed, voice lighter and slightly raspy from the coughs. "_That's harder to do than I thought! Well, forget that, ahem. Greetings Gotham! Joker here! And boy do I have some news for you!"_

The Joker's body relaxed then as he crossed one of his legs over the other, leaning back in the chair comfortably. "_As I was saying, tonight is an important night for our fair city. As you can see, I am sitting in the highest office in town; that's right, the big cheese seat down at City Hall. You see, I had an appointment with the mayor tonight and we got to talking about the future of Gotham and how much fun was in store for us all._

"_Now, I'm a fun-lovin' guy if I don't say so myself, but I had some doubts that Mayor Krol shared that vision as well, so we had a meeting and this is what he had to say._"

At this, Mayor Krol appeared on screen, duct tape wrapped around his body and legs, pinning his arms to his sides. His hair was out of place as it stood this way and that way at various points. His suit was torn in places, showing he had had a rather bad night. There was a clown-masked thug behind him, pushing the mayor to hop towards the Joker until he stood next to the green-haired man, his legs bent at the knees as he hunched over.

The Joker reached up to a piece of duct tape that covered Krol's mouth and picked at one of the corners. Then quickly, he ripped the tape off the mayor's face, the man gasping out in pain as his lower face turned red.

It took Krol a moment before he said anything, but when he did, it was with rage. "_You psycho! You're not going to get away with this! You hear me?! I'm gonna have you locked up in the deepest, darkest jail cell I can find and by the time anyone finds you, you'll be a rotting corpse!_"

The Joker stared at Krol blandly before he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a hand gun, pointed it right at the mayor's chest, and fired. The bullet tore through Krol's body and hit the thug in his shoulder. Both men dropped to the floor, the mayor into a crumbled heap and the thug grasping his shoulder in pain, crying out as he writhed on the floor.

"_Oh Sammy! Did I get you too?_" the Joker asked alarmed. "_I'm sorry about that. Here, let me fix you up._" He then pointed the gun right at Sammy's head, the man immediately begging him not to fire.

"_No, no! Don't shoot! Don't_—"

The Joker fired the gun again, the thug's head jerking back as his body seemed to jolt from the bullet's force. Sammy didn't move again.

The green-haired man then turned to face the camera again, his face still blank until his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock. "_Oh my, we don't have a mayor anymore! Dear me, oh dear me, what will we ever do?_" Then his mouth closed, his red lips spreading up and out as his dark eyes lit up with an idea. "_I know! We need to elect a new mayor! One that can lead Gotham into a glorious future! Now, I don't know many people that are up to the task, but we won't know until someone tries. So, I nominate _me _as Gotham's new mayor._"

Immediately, several voices off-camera began hooting and hollering their approval. "_I second! I second!_" a few of them called out, much to the Joker's glee.

"_And I'm already up in the polls too! Ha ha! But I'm a democratic kind of guy, so while I graciously accept the nomination, I can't run unopposed for this very important office. So, if anyone wishes to be mayor, come on down to City Hall! Everyone is invited to throw their electoral bid into the race, no party affiliation required! And we can't forget the most important people of all, the voters!_

"_This is one night only, so if you want your voice heard, here's your chance! Ta ta for now!_"

The video cut off then, the televisions screen returning to the reporter as she held a somber look on her face. "_The police ask that all citizens stay home tonight as they handle the hostage crisis at City Hall_—"

Bruce turned his head to Zatanna, who turned her own to look at him with wide eyes. "Stay here and don't leave the hotel," he ordered her, his voice deepening darkly. He then turned himself around to march out the hotel's doors.

He was stopped, however, when the dark-haired woman grabbed his arm tightly. "And what are you going to do?" she demanded.

Bruce yanked his arm out of her grasp and kept moving. "I"m going to put a stop this tonight."

"Don't you need some help? Just give me a moment to change and I'l—"

The dark-haired man immediately stopped in his tracts and jerked his head around. "No! This is dangerous, Zana, and I'm not going to put you in harm's way. Stay here and don't even think of coming down to City Hall. There's something else going on here, I can feel it."

Zatanna was glaring at him now, arms crossed over her chest. "I can hold my own, ya know, or were you not paying attention during my show?"

"Can you stop bullets in midair?"

"Well, no—"

"Then you're not coming—end of discussion."

Zatanna opened her mouth to continue their argument, but Bruce interrupted her. "Do this for me, Zana. Please."

That stopped whatever words were about to come out of her mouth. It took her moment before she replied reluctantly, "Alright, I'll stay out of it."

"Thank you." The dark-haired man left the hotel then, leaving Zatanna standing in the lobby. Wayne Enterprises wasn't too far away with a suit he could use. Hopefully nothing bad would happen until he got to City Hall. Not that he would hold his breath.

* * *

><p>City Hall was closed off for three blocks, Gordon's orders. With cop cars and SWAT vehicles crowding the streets in front, back, and sides of the building, red and blue lights flashing all over the place, and policemen taking positions all around with guns pointed right at City Hall, you would think that would discourage anyone from showing their face.<p>

But no, it hadn't. By the time the GCPD had gotten here, a crowd of people had camped out in front of City Hall, homemade signs sticking up in the air as they chanted some inane garbage. His officers hadn't been successful in driving them off, but they managed to get the crowd behind a police barricade on the sidewalk across the street from the mayor's office.

Even now, Gordon could see a few people standing on makeshift platforms—mostly trash cans or boxes found from nearby dumpsters—with men and a few women advocating for their election for mayor. Some of them were reasonable from what the commissioner could hear, but there were always those yahoos with the extreme rhetoric that always found a way to be the loudest voices heard. He had already counted five speakers that wanted to abolish the city government and replace it with a one-class system. It wasn't a bad idea, but the feasibility just wasn't there. Heck, there was even one guy throwing out words like proletariat and bourgeoisie that was clearly confusing a bunch of his listeners, but his conviction and charisma were winning them over.

And then, there was the Emperor of Gotham.

"My fellow subject! It is time for us to declare what Gotham truly is! We are an empire and every empire needs its emperor. I promise, as you sovereign lord, once I obtain the thrown which is rightfully mine, I will reward you all with what you truly deserve: Low Rent! Free cake! And season tickets to the Gotham Knights! No one will be turned away and free hot dogs on me!"

As you could tell, the Emperor was a stand-up guy.

Fortunately, Gordon didn't see a press vehicle, not that they weren't here. Someone had come up with the brilliant idea to have them sectioned off at the back of the Hall; Gordon needed to find out who that was and give them a promotion. Yeah, he could see a reporter and their camera man trying to interview people in the crowd, but they were few and far in between.

Hustling by officers and squad cars, the commissioner made his way to a SWAT vehicle, where Branden stood. "What's the sit-rep?" he demanded when he reached the man.

"We've got the entire building surrounded," Branden replied. "Snipers are posted on the roof tops of every building, and I've got SWAT teams ready to go in on the East, North, and South ends. We're currently waiting for the West team to get ready."

"What's the plan on breach?"

"Heavy and hard. Spotters have been able to see through the windows and confirm our perps are armed with machine guns. Once we enter, we take out everyone standing. The hostages are currently in the mayor's office and a couple offices on the same floor. There's a couple guards there, so I've got a couple snipers trying to get shots on them through those windows. Once we breach, the snipers will take out the guards and then keep an eye on the doors to make sure no one else gets in."

"And the main lobby?"

"We're holding off the South team until the East and West teams reach it. That's open space there, so I want to draw the fire away from the main door so the South team can enter with minimal enemy fire on them."

"I like it," Gordon said. "Any sign of this Joker guy in there?"

Branden shook his head. "We had him in the mayor's office when we arrived, but he's left since then and we haven't be able to spot him again."

Gordon turned his head to look at City Hall. "What the hell is this guy doing?" he asked to no one in particular. He had to have known the police would come down in force once he announced he had taken over the building. There was no way out with all the doors and windows being watched.

"Unless this guy was planning on committing suicide by cop, I don't think he was thinking at all," Branden answered the commissioner's rhetorical question.

There was a moment of silence between the two men before Gordon said, "You have the go when your teams are set."

Before Branden could reply to that, the SWAT leader's radio went off. "_Sir, we have a problem, over._"

"What problem, over?" Branden demanded as he reached up to his radio receiver, the device attached to his shirt by his shoulder. Because of that, he had to turned his head and tilt it down awkwardly to speak into it.

"_We've lost visuals through the windows, Sir, over._"

"Lost it how? Did they pull the curtains or something, over?"

"_Negative, Sir. It looks like there's some sort of smoke, over._"

Gordon and Branden looked at each other. "What the hell is going on in there?" the brown-haired man asked.

Before Gordon could answer, a shrill squeal rang out into the night, causing many people to cover their ears, Gordon and Branden included. Looking around, the commissioner spotted speakerphones crudely attached to light poles with wire and duct tape. How had he missed those? How had anyone missed those?

"_Is this thing on?_" a familiar voice asked, followed by, "_oh, it is! Ahem, hem, hem, hello Gotham! Welcome to tonight's mayoral election and boy am I glad to see how many people care about their right to vote! With how voter turnout has been lately, I thought everyone would've hit the snooze button on this, but you sure showed me! Now then, just give my boys a moment to open the doors and all you wannabe candidates and dedicated voters can all make your voices heard!_"

That was when the front doors swung open, much to Gordon and Branden's surprise. Several windows on the first and second floors shot open as well. Immediately, a large green cloud rolled out from the openings, spreading out like an advancing tide down the stairs in front of the building and towards the police barricades.

Gordon stared at the in-coming cloud and immediately didn't like the sense of dread that well up in him. "Everyone, pull back!" he roared as he turned towards a couple of cops kneeling behind their squad car, looking horrified as the cloud. Behind him, Branden was shouting into his radio the same order the commissioner was. "Pull back, pull back!" Gordon yelled as he grabbed the men by their arms and hauled them up, urging them to flee.

By then, all the other officers were in full retreat as they hauled ass around squad cars and vans. A loud scream came from the protesters as they all began scrambling away as fast as they could.

Gordon turned his head to look at the advancing cloud and saw as it poured over cars and enveloped fleeing police officers. It was on Gordon a moment later and all he could do was twist around and try to cover his face with his trench coat. Even that didn't stop him from getting a lungful of the cloud, immediately causing him to cough as his body try to force it back out.

And then a peculiar thing happened. A tickling sensation began rumbling up his chest and up his throat. Then, for the first time in James Gordon's life, he giggled. "He he he," slipped through his lips as he took a step. "He he he ha!" it grew stronger as he faltered on his next step, stumbling into a squad car and leaning up against it as a dull pain nip at his side. That only served to fuel his laughter as he began to bellow out, "Ha ha ha ha!"

He didn't know why, couldn't understand it. There was nothing funny going on and yet he was laughing like no tomorrow. It just kept coming out of his mouth to the point he wasn't aware of anything else; yet, his ears were starting to pick out laughter all around him, which only caused him to laugh even more.

The green cloud was beginning to thin out, but still he could only make out dark shapes around him, a couple of which were these black blobs no more than ten feet away. They were writhing too, which told the commissioner that they were officers of his, yet they were laughing just as much as he was.

And that's when it hit him. His stomach muscles tightened up painful, the pain causing even more laughter to spill out. Gordon lost his balance then and slid down the car, landing on his side as his arms clutched at his stomach. "Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!" he cackled. His guts were screaming at him in pain. There was so much of it that he could only focus on it, yet that only forced him to laugh harder and harder.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

* * *

><p>Batman had landed on top of a building just in time to watch as green smoke poured out of City Hall. There was a sniper further down the building, but the man had yet to notice him, not that the vigilante could blame him. The cloud swept over over everything, fortunately not reaching up to the rooftop.<p>

Holding his position, Batman watched to see what was happening. No doubt this was some sort of poison and it was foolhardy to dive in without knowing what it did. Reaching to the back of his belt, he pulled out a gas mask and attached it to the mouth opening of his cowl. He heard it click in to place, informing him that he had an airtight seal should he choose to jump in.

That was when he heard it. He hadn't been sure about it at first, convinced he was just hearing things, but it grew louder and louder to where there was no mistaking it. In the streets, men and women laid on the ground, laughing like there was no tomorrow.

Since he was on the corner of a building with a street running along side of it, the dark-clad man turned his head to watch as people fled down the road, only for the cloud to catch up and cover them. When the cloud thinned out, people had fallen to the ground, or were leaning up against light poles or buildings as they began laughing out of their minds.

It was all bizarre. Keeping an eye on the rolling cloud, he was thankful to note that it was slowing down and finally stopping towards the end of the block. It seemed to settle on the ground, choosing not to waft upwards, which was a small blessing. Anyone on the rooftops were safe for the time being.

Turning his attention back to City Hall, he noticed the front doors wide open. Pulling out a pair of binoculars, he peered through them, noting he couldn't see any of the Joker's men beyond the entrance. Lowering them, he knew it was foolhardy to go flying through those open doors. Who knew what other traps were in store for anyone dumb enough to go charging through them?

Placing his binoculars back, he stood up and prepared to activate his glider. While the laughter unnerved him, there wasn't much he could do until he got to the Joker. He'd have to have some sort of antidote to reverse this. Face hardening, he prepared to push off.

It was then he spotted him. Lying on the ground by a squad car was Gordon, holding his gut as he rocked on his side. Instantly, the vigilante's course changed as he dove off the building, grabbing onto his cape as it stiffened and glided down to the fallen commissioner. He let go of his cape when he was mere feet away and landed next to the man.

"Jim!" he shouted as he grabbed hold of the man, his horrible laughter ringing out. "Calm down, Jim, you have to calm down."

And the commissioner just kept laughing. "Ha ha ha...hurts...ha ha...hurts so much…" he managed to gasp out between laughs. "Getting worse...ha ha ha...help...ha ha!"

Gorden then jerked onto his back and let out an even louder laugh. Batman felt helpless as he watched. He had nothing he could do, not even to ease the man's pain and it ate him up inside. There was something horribly wrong with all this, he could feel it.

He had to stop it. Though he didn't have an antidote, he did have something that might calm Gordon down. Reaching to a back pocket on his belt, he pulled out two things: an airgun and a vial of clear fluid. Putting the vial into the gun, Batman jerked the collar of Gordon's coat away from his neck and put the barrel of the airgun against the side of his throat. Squeezing the trigger, the fluid was immediately forced down the barrel at high speeds and into the man's neck. Gordon let out a gasp and miraculously he began to quiet down, his laughter becoming chuckles to giggles before he went silent. Pressing two fingers against his neck, Batman felt for the carotid pulse and was pleased to feel it pumping strong. Okay, so a sedative had a positive effect so far.

It was then Batman noticed it. The laughter throughout the night was slowly quieting down. Jerking his head up, he saw two nearby policemen, their bodies rigid as they lay on the ground. Their faces were completely white, their eyes bulging out of their sockets as their neck muscles were taut. Their mouths drew the most attention though, as their lips had become a bright red and were spread wide, twisting their faces into smiles.

Standing up on his feet, Batman turned this way and that, looking all around him as he saw more and more people laying the exact same way, their faces frozen in those horrible smiles. Each one of them were a sickening copy of the Joker's and it was only then that he realized just what that cloud of gas was.

He had been right about this gas being dangerous, but its lethalness was far greater than what he had anticipated. It was like he was in a field of corpses, each one more tragic than the last. It was too late for these people, all of them; he only had enough sedative on him to save one other person and he could already tell there was no way he could get to anyone still clinging to life in time.

A cold fury filled his body then.

He wasn't aware of his next move or even his next breath. It all came in flashes. One moment he was standing by Gordon, the next he was leaping over cars, climbing stairs, and bursting through the open doors of City Hall. Any previous thoughts of an obvious trap being in place didn't occur to him until he landed on the lobby floor in a crouch.

The front desk in front of him had two thugs standing in front of it, machine guns clasped in their hands. They must've been surprised by his appearance as they weren't pointing their guns at him. The massive staircase further back had a few more thugs as well. A few others were scattered about the room in various postures, none of which involved pointing a gun at him yet. All over the floor and at various places against the wall were long air canisters, a green mist pouring out of their open mouths.

Batman instantly pounced.

Like a dark wraith, he soared through the air at the thugs by the front desk. Slamming a fist into the left thug's face, the man jerking to aside from the blow as he dropped his gun, Batman bent his arm at the elbow and shot it towards the thug on the right, ramming it into the man's face. Simultaneously, he shot a leg up and landed a kick to the left thug's chin, snapping his head back and lifting him off the floor. The man flew over the front desk as Batman twisted his body in midair to face the other thug, shooting both of his hands out to grab him by his shirt. Continuing to spin, he lifted the man off the floor and threw him through the air, the goon muffled scream filling the air as he flew at one of his comrades. That thug had the sense to jump out of the way, which left his friend crashing face-first into the wall and falling limply to the floor.

By then, the others had raised their guns and were aiming their weapons at the vigilante. Jumping, Batman rolled over the front desk and fell to the ground behind it, keeping low. There was a separate back desk that provided him cover from the opposite side and it came in handy as the men began firing their guns. The desk splintered and tossed up wooden pieces as the bullets tore into it. With a growl, Batman reached into his belt and pulled out a smoke pellet and threw it at his feet. An explosion of smoke enveloped him a moment later, filling up the space between the front and back desks. The gunfire stopped a moment later, the men unsure what to do with this development.

That gave Batman all the time he needed as both of his hands went to his belt. With one hand he withdrew three bat-shaped shuriken and the other his grapple gun. Aiming the grapple up at the roof, he fired it with a loud _bang!_, the cable flying up into the air and hitting an anchor point on the ceiling. Hitting the retraction button, he shot up into the air, exploding out of the smoke cloud and seeing all of the thugs looking right at him.

Perfect. Focusing on the thugs on the staircase, Batman threw the shuriken at them, the projectiles hitting the two top most thugs and one of the lower ones on their hands, their guns clattering on the staircase as they dropped them with cries of pain. Swinging his body back and then forward, the vigilante let go of his grapple and soared towards the last gun-toting thug, his feet landing on his shoulders and causing him to crash onto the marble stairs.

Not hesitating, Batman launched himself off the fallen goon towards the thug further up the stairs. Grabbing him by his coat collar, he hauled the man up off the stairs and swung him to the railing. Letting go, the man screamed as he went over the railing, landing in a heap on the ground below.

Going to the next man, the dark-clad man went simple and rammed his fist into the man's stomach, the goon bending over as he lost his breath in a rush of air fleeing his lungs. With his other hand, he delivered a sharp chop to the back of the man's neck, right below his skull. The thug went limp and dropped onto the staircase, slowly sliding bumpily down the steps head first until he stopped a few steps from the main floor.

Finally, Batman leapt into the air at the last man on the stairs. Fist drawn back, he threw it at the thug's face and hit him so hard, his clown mask went flying off his face. The man flew off the stairs and crashed onto the floor unconscious.

Landing on steps, Batman lifted his head up, prepared to go after the other men, but stopped his progress when he saw them collectively back off, raising their hands and guns up into the air in a sign of surrender.

"He knocked Louie's mask off!" one of them gasped fearfully.

"Uh uh, no way am I next," another one spoke.

Narrowing his eyes, Batman relaxed his body somewhat as he straightened his body posture. Clearly there was more of that deadly laughing gas in here and those clown masks offered some protection against it. The thugs' survival instincts were kicking in and they clearly didn't want to risk having their masks ripped off.

"Now that's a shame," a familiar voice spoke up, causing Batman to stiffen. Turning around, he saw the Joker standing at the top of the staircase, right where it divided into two branching set of stairs. Out of everyone here, he was the only one who didn't wear a mask, so his smiling face was out for everyone to see. "And here I thought I was paying you enough to get into a roughhouse fight with Batsy here. I must say, I'm very disappointed in you boys."

He then directed his attention to the vigilante. "As for you, wow. I have to say, I am impressed. I know I saw you at the circus place, but one fight does not do you justice." He raised his handgun up into the air and waved it around lazily. "Go ahead and keep fighting, I insist, really, I'd love to watch."

Batman scowled at the pale-faced man. "Do you know how many people you just killed tonight?!" he demanded enraged.

"Not a clue, eh heh. I imagine the 6 o'clock news will have a body count done. I can't wait to hear the final tally!"

"You're insane."

"Maybe, could be, but is that really a bad thing? Haven't you heard of 'crazy in love' before? If being crazy was a bad thing, just imagine how many whining, screaming brats wouldn't be born and then, gasp, sob" at this he raised an arm up and pressed it against his forehead as he tilted his head up, "then we wouldn't have any more people on this mudball of a planet. Really puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

Batman put a leash on his anger. Joker was trying to anger him with his cavalier nonsense, make him make a rushed choice. He needed to calm down and wrangle something out of this madman. "Why are you doing this? I hardly doubt this is your way of encouraging a population boom."

"Quite right, my good man!" the Joker declared, sticking his upper arm up into the air as he extending a finger up. He then lowered the arm down, pointing his finger at the dark-clad man. "First and foremost, _I_ am a scientist. I have a lab you know and boy howdy is it full of science. So naturally I make all kinds of wonderful stuff in it and wouldn't you know, I concocted this lovely gas of mine. Now, being a scientist and all, I wanted to make sure it worked and needed some willing test subjects. And let me tell ya, Gotham was so understanding by giving me all of those lovely little people outside. It really makes a man cry in gratitude."

And Batman's rage reared its head again. "You murdered countless people!"

"All in the name of science, I assure you. But now I've got a new problem on my hands." The Joker brought both of his arms out, one crossing over his chest as it laid the top of his gun-holding hand beneath the elbow of his other arm, that arm sticking up as his hand rested against his cheek, a worried look on his face. "I don't know what to call it. I originally went with laughing gas, but that one's already been copyrighted. Even I won't challenge one of those. By the way, do you know how much it costs to bring a lawsuit against one?" He then shook his head, hand still against his face. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Anyways, I thought of using Joker Gas, but that didn't have nearly same ring as laughing gas. The same with Smiling Gas. As you can see, I'm in a bit of a rut."

Batman took an enraged step up the stairs and then another. "You're worried about naming your poison after what you've done? You monster!"

Immediately, Joker moved his gun-holding arm out, pointing the weapon at the dark-clad man as he dropped his other hand down to his side. "That's far enough, Bat-boy.

The vigilante snarled at him. "You must have an antidote for this gas. Hand it over _now_."

The man's pale face slackened as he tilted his head to a side, giving him a blank stare. "Now what would I need an antidote for? It's not like I need it, so it would be silly to have one."

Batman felt his stomach drop. No cure? That was not good. Only this madman knew what effects the gas had and he had no interest in sharing that information unless it was through a victim's personal experience. Damn it all.

"Now then… how about Joker Poison? That sounds good, but I'm just not feeling it with that one. I think we're on the right track though!"

The Joker kept running through various names, weighing them against others ranking them based on pazazz. Batman stayed where he was, letting his cape envelop him as it provided him cover. Slowly, he pulled out a shuriken, and waited for the right moment to throw it. Considering the green-haired man was really getting into his name quandary, that moment was fastly approaching.

"Oh wait, I think I've got it!" he suddenly declared. "Joker Venom! Now doesn't that name have some pop to it? It's fun, family-friendly, and even has that nice twist of menace to it, don't you agree?"

That was when a deafening roar rang out, causing everyone to jerk around and face the front doors. A purple motorcycle launched through the entrance, soaring through the main lobby with the Huntress straddling the machine, her dark hair and cape billowing behind her. With one arm out, she pointed her crossbow right at the Joker and fired the bolt.

Batman twisted his head around as he watched the flying arrow race towards its target, seeing the maniacal clown jerk to a side as he cried out, "Whoa!" His face then hardened into a scowl as he turned his head toward the women as her motorcycle landed on top of the front desk, crushing it into pieces. He had his gun raised again and it was aimed right at her.

In an instant, Batman let loose his bat-shaped shuriken, the projectile knocking Joker's gun up a moment before it fired, the bullet sailing harmlessly up into the ceiling. The man cried out from the jolt of pain he felt even as the vigilante dashed up the remaining stairs, two at a time. Letting out a war cry, he swung a fist at the Joker's face, his punch knocking the man off his feet and onto the floor. The gun scuttled across the floor until it stopped against the step of the next staircase. Straddling the Joker, Batman pinned his arms to floor by grabbing onto the pale man's wrists. "It's over, Joker," he growled over him.

Despite his situation, the Joker smiled widely at him. "Have I ever told you I'm a fantastic poker player?" he told the vigilante. "My daddy taught me when I was a little squirt and it just stuck with me. Especially the secret to winning: always have an ace up your sleeve, or twelve."

That was when a fist slammed into the vigilante's face, snapping his head to a side as he let out a cry of pain. A hand then grabbed his shoulder and the next thing he knew, the Joker slammed his forehead into Batman's, causing the dark-clad man to jerk backwards.

The hand on his shoulder then tightened and then pulled, Batman falling off the Joker and onto the floor next to him. Surprisingly, Batman still held onto something in his hand and when he was able to get a look at it, he saw a fake gloved hand in his grasp.

"Oh Batsy!" Jerking his head up, Batman saw the Joker standing on the staircase in front of him, both of his arms held out in front of him. In one hand he held a round, purple grenade, a yellow pair of eyes and a red-framed smile painted on its side, the face looking right at the vigilante. With his other hand, he held it at the top of the grinning grenade, a finger wrapped in the loop of its pin. "I'd love to stay and keep chatting, but I'm a busy man with things to do. So why don't we end this with a big bang?"

He then pulled the pin out. However, instead of tossing the explosive at him, the Joker turned his body to a side and threw it toward the middle of the lobby. Eyes following it, Batman 's face shown with horror as the grenade landed right behind Huntress, who was in the middle of fighting off a Joker thug. "Huntress, look out!" he shouted.

Unfortunately, he was too late. The grenade exploded, but not into flames like he expected. Instead, another cloud of green Joker Venom burst forth, surrounding the purple-clad woman in an instant. Batman was immediately on his feet, pushing off the stair platform and flew towards the gas. He could already here Huntress coughing by the time he had landed on the floor. That coughing, however, soon morphed into a soft giggle before it grew into full-out laughter. Batman changed through the cloud, ramming into Huntress' body and wrapping his arms around her waist as he tackled her out of it.

The two of them landed on the floor, clear of the gas as it began to dissipate. Huntress paused in her laughter long enough to let out an "Opph! before she launched right back into laughing. Pushing himself onto his knees, Batman pulled out his airgun, and inserted his last sedative vial. Grabbing onto the top of her costume at its neck, he pulled it down as much as he could and pressed the airgun's barrel against her exposed skin. Pulling the trigger and injecting the sedative, Huntress let out a gasp before she began to calm down, much like Gordon before her.

However, Batman wasn't done just yet. Still holding the airgun, he reached to the same pocket and pulled out an empty vial and inserted it into the gun. Next, he pulled out a small cap with a thin needle on it. Attaching the cap to the barrel of the airgun, he then pulled out a small pocket knife and flicked open its blade.

Focusing on her nearest arm, he cut the fabric of Huntress' suit, creating an opening on the inside of her arm opposite her elbow. This gave him access to her brachial vein. With his needle-capped airgun, he pushed the needed into her arm, puncturing the skin and entering the vein, though the needle's length kept it from going out the vein's other side. Squeezing the trigger and holding it, he watched as the empty vile began filling up with blood. Batman waited until the vial was full before he pulled the needle out. Removing the cap, Batman shoved it back into its pouch, making a mental note to clean it out when he returned to the cave and remove all of the contents out.

With a sigh, Batman looked up from the unconscious women and saw that they were alone. The Joker and his men had taken advantage of his diverted attention and escaped, much to his chagrin. Then again, had they stuck around they most assuredly would have interfered with his sedation and blood drawing.

Though annoyed, it hadn't been a total loss. He now had a blood sample tainted with Joker Venom. Now he could attempt to synthesize an antidote from it. However, he also had a new problem: what to do with Huntress. He didn't have access to the proper lab equipment in the city, or at least a lab that wouldn't raise too many unwanted questions. There was no way in hell he wanted to take her back to the cave for treatment, but a hospital was potentially worse, especially with the secret identity issue. That left Batman with very few options, all of which were ones he didn't like one bit.

Damn it all.


	10. Five Hundred Seventy Four

The unfamiliar revving of the motorcycle was a jolt to Batman's system. The way the sound bounced around and echoed throughout the rocky tunnel was foreign and strange, presenting a feeling of wrongness within him. Normally he was driving his car through here and was insulated from the noise. Still, it was only a feeling and one he ignored completely.

Bursting out of the tunnel he used for his car, he came to a screeching stop in front of said vehicle. The purple motorcycle he sat on was clearly not suited for his body type since it was a custom-build, creating an uncomfortable feeling between his legs. It had been difficult driving the bike as well as he had maintained one hand on the handle bar for most of the journey here.

The reason why he had gone one-handed was because of Huntress. He had her sitting in front of him on the motorcycle, her body facing his as her head rested on his chest. The vigilante had been in the habit of keeping a hand on her whenever he had made a turn—which he had made more than he would've liked—and had to slow down as well, much to chagrin. They were in the cave though, and presently that was all that mattered.

It wasn't his first choice, not after the last visitor he had here, but there was little choice in the matter. He couldn't take the woman to a hospital, not without compromising her identity. Though he held reservation concerning her involvement in protecting the city, he wasn't going to purposefully give her away. Just the thought railed against his sensibilities.

With every hospital eliminated, he had considered one of the labs at Wayne Enterprises. That held more risk for him though, as it created a connection between Batman and his company should he be discovered. There was no way he would jeopardize all the effort he had put into separating Batman and Bruce Wayne. So, with public medical facilities and the research laboratories of Wayne Enterprises all removed as options, that left only one place he could take her, that being the cave.

Swinging his leg over and off the bike, Batman scooped Huntress up into his arms, one arm against her back and the other behind her her knees. With a singular purpose, he strode away from the vehicles and headed for the medical unit, climbing the metal staircase and up onto the platform. Reaching one of the beds, he placed the purple-clad woman on it, making her as comfortable as he could before doing an about face and taking the stairs back down.

Batman headed to the supercomputer, pulling out his airgun and removing the vial of Huntress' blood from it. After putting the airgun back in its compartment, he called out, "Computer, activate blood analysis program." Instantly, the computer screen came to life, flashing images and windows over it as it opened the program. Reaching his chair, Batman took a seat in it and looked to the right of his keyboard. There was a square, upraised lid lying on the desk within his reach, which he flipped open to reveal a small round circle at its center. Sliding the blood vial into the hole, he closed the lid and ordered, "Computer, run blood analysis diagnostic and toxicology screening."

Again, the screen flashed as it did the analysis, Batman waiting patiently for the program to do its designed work. It took a couple minutes before a window popped up, an image of the blood at its cellular level on one side and a list of data to the left. The red bloods cells and platelets were the most eye-catching part of the image, but they weren't the first thing that caught the vigilante's attention. Mixed with the cells was a greenish fluid, some sort of chemical compound that clearly didn't belong. Looking to the data list, he read the relevant information, making note of various chemical elements and compounds that were listed, ones that he knew were not normally found in the human bloodstream.

"Computer, extract data on foreign chemical compounds." Some more flashing occurred, but it didn't take nearly as long as the initial analysis as a few more windows popped up, each with a different chemical compound in them with their relevant data. That wasn't what he wanted to see, but he was quick to note that each compound had the same elements involved. Apparently his command hadn't been specific enough as the computer had taken all the elements and made multiple potential compounds out of them. It was still a start, however; now he just had to isolate which one was the one used in the Joker Venom.

"Computer, crosscheck blood sample with all potential chemical compounds. Identify most common compound." Once more, the computer went to work, leaving Batman to watch its progress.

"It seems you have a situation, Sir."

Batman nodded his head. So focused was he on his tests he hadn't heard the man enter the cave and walk right up behind him. He chose to see it as a testament to his concern over this latest development rather than the butler successfully sneaking up on him. "Alfred, we have a guest in the cave," he told the older man. "She was poisoned earlier tonight with the same toxin the Joker unleashed at City Hall."

"My word. It must be quite serious if you've brought her here."

"From what I've seen, it's absolutely lethal. Everyone exposed so far has died, brutally I might add." At this, the vigilante typed in a command on the keyboard, a new window appear with several numbered file icons on it. Going to the last icon, he opened it and the video feed from his cowl began playing right from the moment he activated it. Fast forwarding it, he brought the video up to the point where he saw the policemen lying on the ground, their faces twisted into grotesque smiles.

"Dear God," Alfred gasped.

"Everyone there was killed," Batman said bluntly as he stared at the image. "I was lucky enough to administer a sedative to Jim Gordon to slow the process, but there's no known cure for the poison presently."

Alfred quickly assumed his stoic demeanor. "And the person you've brought to the cave has also been sedated?"

"Yes. She's the vigilante I confronted a few nights ago. Calls herself the Huntress. She's in the med bay right now and I'm currently running a toxicology test on her blood to isolate the chemical compound the Joker used. I can then reverse engineer it and see if I can develop an antidote."

He then turned his chair to face the butler. "There's something I need for you to do. I need you to make sure that Huntress remains sedated for the duration of her stay in the cave. Use Propofol if you have to, but I want her knocked out."

Alfred looked alarmed at that. "Are you sure, Sir? That's—"

"Extreme, yes; but we are not having a repeat of Lois Lane, especially with Huntress. She's too reckless and violent to trust with our identities. Lane was one thing and easily controlled with the right persuasion; Huntress, on the other hand, doesn't have those same strings."

"Very well, Sir. I will see to it that she is cared for." Alfred turned on his heels and made for the med bay. In the meantime, Batman stood up and walked towards a table set a short distance away from the computer—his lab. Once he got there he began organizing his supplies, placing open vials in tube racks, petri dishes in small stacks, and microscope slides next to the microscope, along with droppers, beakers, and various chemicals. A glance back at the computer told him it was still running its analysis. One compound had been ruled out, so there was some progress being made.

Alfred soon returned, his suit jacket off and the sleeves of his white, button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. "Ms. Huntress has just been given a second dose of the sedative," the older man informed him. "I also went to the trouble of inserting an IV catheter, setting up a heart monitor and pulse ox."

Batman nodded his acknowledgement. "When the computer analysis is over, I'm going to need you to take another blood sample. I want to confirm what sort of half-life this toxin has. We'll also want to determine if there's any organ damage occurring presently, specifically heart, brain, and liver."

There was a moment of silence before he heard Alfred carefully comment, "You're taking on a great burden, Master Bruce." Those words caused him to halt his preparations. "But it is not one you should carry on your own. There are many doctors currently running their own research on this toxin, the same as you. You may want to compare notes."

"I know that, but none of those doctors have access to the technology I have. I can run multiple tox screenings at once while they're limited to what their blood labs use. I have countless diagnostic programs that can run simultaneously and cross-reference each other to determine commonalities; those kind of tests would take them hours, if not days to fully complete. Right now, I'm the best hope at finding an antidote while there's still time before Joker unleashes more of this poison."

Batman had felt in control as he had said this. His posture has been straight with nothing to give away that he was bothered by this latest development. Yet, Alfred could see right through it, as if he had seen this story before. Perhaps he even had. "Master Bruce, you seem quite on edge," he spoke as if he were speaking about the weather. "Is there something troubling you?"

It should have been obvious what was "troubling" him. The frozen image on the computer screen was clearly the reason. It was self-explanatory and Batman was quite sure the butler knew this. He did have a set of eyes in his head after all. But there was something the older man was trying to get at and he wouldn't ask such a blatantly obvious question unless he had a point to make. At any other time, he would've ignored such inquiry, shrugging off it off as inconsequential; this time he decided to humor the old man.

"I know nothing about this," he admitted, much calmer, softer than he felt. "This man, this gas, it's all a mystery. I don't even know what he's doing this for. With Fries, it was anger with the city; Hush wanted revenge, plain and simple; and Cobblepot just wanted to rule Gotham. This...Joker just appeared out of nowhere and just started killing people with no clear reason why."

"Which makes him a frightening opponent," Alfred summed up.

"Frightening," the younger man agreed, "deadly, unpredictable. Those people out there tonight, there was nothing I could do for them. Absolutely nothing. The best I've come up with is knocking them out and hoping on the off-chance their body metabolizes the poison out of their body, which doesn't include what other damage it could be causing. There are two people who have currently survived the initial gassing and I have no assurance as to if they'll recover. For all I know when they wake up, they'll start laughing again and I'll just have to keep sedating them to prevent further damage."

"You're clearly frustrated with this, but may I remind you this isn't the first time people have died under such an attack. Gotham has weathered difficult times such as this before."

Batman shook his head, disgust written on his face. Not at Alfred, but just the thought of the incident earlier tonight. "This is different. With Fries, I managed to stop him in mid-attack. Hush had already killed his board members before I even got to him. There was nothing I could do to help the people already harmed in either of those cases. This time...this time I was there when it happened. I was _there_. And I couldn't stop it—didn't know how to stop it. And now there's so many people lying out there as twisted and deformed corpses."

Batman felt himself choke up, silencing his ramblings. Soon, he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder, Alfred giving him a comforting squeeze. "Sometimes we are unable to do what we wish too. It is not anyone's fault as it is simply out of their hands, much like tonight with you." He paused to let those words sink it. "The computer will take some time in processing this toxin. Now would be a good time to rest yourself and allow your mind time to adjust to this situation."

It sounded good. In fact, that was probably the best course of action the vigilante could take. Yet, there was something deep inside of him that rebelled at the thought. _No! You have to work! You have to figure this out! You can't let this man get away with this!_ And it was because of this, that he shrugged Alfred's hand off his shoulder. "There's no time for that," he growled lowly. "There's too much to do and too little time to do it in. I _have _to do this."

Batman went back to organizing his lab supplies, never taking a look at Alfred's sympathetic look. "Very well, Sir," he responded after a time. "I will take watch over the young woman in our care and report to you any change in her condition."

The vigilante nodded his acknowledgement, ignoring the fading footsteps that left him in a world all of his own.

* * *

><p>It was all over the news networks.<p>

Zatanna sat on the foot of her bed and stared at the grisly images on the television. News teams were scouring the streets around City Hall, men in hazmat suits running around as they removed the bodies of so many people. A reporter off screen was narrating the scene, describing the carnage to the viewers.

"_As you can see, the police and medical teams are working as quickly as possible to cleanse the area, removing the bodies of the deceased as they do so._" At this, the camera zoomed in on two men carrying a stretch, a dead body on it with its face staring right at news team. The pale face and twisted smile nearly caused Zatanna to retch at the sight of it. It was horrible to look at.

"Jesus, son of Mary," Jane breathed next to the dark-haired woman. She too was sitting on the bed, a pillow clutched in her arms as she leaned on top of it, pushing it down onto her thighs. She was just as captivated with the scene as Zatanna. "That looks just like the creep that attacked us."

Zatanna nodded her head, but didn't say anything. What could she say? Jane was right and she was having the flashbacks to prove it. Though unlike the Joker's animated face, these were just flat-out unnatural. They looked stiff, petrified even. No way did a normal face look like that, even in death.

There was a shift somewhere behind her, alerting her to Jeff's presence in the room as well. He was currently standing next to the bed out of her sight, but he too was focused on the TV, and there was no telling what he was thinking, though Zatanna felt that he was in agreement with them.

"_While the police aren't commenting about the incident, sources say this was an attack by a man simply known as the Joker. He first appeared last week in connection with dozens of robberies across the city. It is unknown as to how he managed to take over City Hall, or what he intends to do following last night's incident, but he is currently believed to be roaming the city, armed, and highly dangerous._

"_For viewers just turning in, we are just across the street from City Hall. Early counts of the death toll have exceeded over 300 people, with more to come as the police investigate the scene. There are some believe that we are looking at a death toll estimates upwards to over 400 people."_

There was a pause in the reporter's story. "_The station has just informed me that footage does exist of last night's attack, but the GCPD has asked that we not release it to the public due to its graphic nature. For now, all we can do is look at the carnage and ask ourselves: what is next?_"

"More dead people, that's what," Jane answered the rhetorical question. "This Joker guy is gonna keep killin' and killin' and killin' until someone stops him."

"You're right," Jeff agreed. "This is getting very dangerous."

Suddenly, the screen cut away from the horrific scene to the news station, where an anchorman sat behind the news desk. The banner at the bottom of the screen scrolled across with the words _BREAKING NEWS_, soon followed with the name of the anchorman JACK RYDER on it. "_This just in,_" Ryder spoke, a piece of paper in his hand as he looked at the the televised audience. "_The GCPD has released an official count of the number of victims from last night's attack at City Hall, which claimed the lives of policemen, SWAT team members, and local protesters._"

He cleared this throat then and looked at the paper in his hand. "_The official body count has been totaled at...574 people…_"

Even Ryder looked at that number in undisguised shock, which said nothing about Zatanna and her friends as they gaped at the television set. "_I repeat, the official body count is 574,_" the anchorman repeated as if that would someone make the number any less shocking. After staring at the paper for several moments, he placed it down on the desk, looking at the next sheet and read what was on it.

He then perked his head up and looked right at the camera. "_There does appear to be some good news in this tragic event. We have just received word that Commissioner James Gordon of the GCPD was found unconscious at the scene. He has been transported to Gotham Mercy Hospital, where he is recovering from last night's attack. Our prayers go out to the commissioner and his family at this devastating time._"

A growing sense of dread began to work its way into Zatanna's stomach at that moment. So far, none of the news stations had reported on the presence of the Batman at the scene, which the dark-haired woman knew he was going to. There wasn't anything, not even a "Where was Batman when this happened?" For all she knew, he never made it, or got caught up in whatever happened and was lying dead in a gutter somewhere, his face twisted into that sickening smile.

That very image flooded her mind and she had to shake her head to rid herself of it. No, if Bruce had gotten caught up last night, he would be lying out there with all those dead people. And even if he had managed to drag his dying body away, someone would've found him by now and the news story wouldn't be 574 people died last night, it would be the death of Batman. So in this case, no news had to be good news, it just had to be.

It had to be.

Swallowing, Zatanna looked to Jane on her left and Jeff to her right. It seemed they needed to make some decisions now. "Guys, I think its time the troupe left Gotham."

"Agreed," Jeff immediately responded. "I'll inform everyone to pack their things and leave. Be out of the city before sundown. I have to say, it was fortunate we've already packed up all of our equipment at Jezebel, so that's one less thing."

Zatanna nodded her head. "Good. I'll leave that to you."

"What do you need me to do?" Jane asked.

"Help Jeff if he needs it, but the important thing is that everyone gets out. Like you said, this is going to keep going until this freak is caught and I don't want anymore of us getting caught in the crossfire."

"Okay, where do you want to meet up? Our next show listing?"

Zatanna shook her head. "Go home. Once there we'll figure out what to do."

She heard Jeff stiffen behind her. "Zee, you sound like you're not coming with us," he said in a low, accusing tone.

The dark-haired woman sighed. Well, there was no use hiding it. "That's because I'm not."

She saw Jane jerk back, her eyes wide in amazement. "What? Why?" she demanded.

"I have a couple things I need to do here. It shouldn't take long and I'll be gone as soon as they're done."

Jeff stepped around the bed so that he could face her, his face growing angrier with every passing second. "You're thinking about doing something reckless, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"There's no maybes about it!" her manager shouted at her. He stuck out a finger and began jabbing it to emphasize his points. "You're going to get yourself in trouble with this Joker guy. Do you realize just how stupid that is? He's already killed Don and half the city's police department and he's going to do the same to you if you provoke him, which I'd bet 10-to-1 odds that's exactly what you're gonna do!"

"Zee, I really think you should really reconsider that," Jane said softly, a stark contrast to Jeff's angry tone. "This doesn't concern us."

"I know this sounds dumb, but I have to do this." Zatanna looked to Jeff, taking in his simmering rage. "You remember when I hired you? Back when I took over the troupe?"

Her manager continued to glower at her, but nodded his head in answer. "Yeah, what about it?"

"You told me that there were going to be times where we had to do thing that everyone was better off not knowing, including between each other. Well, this is one of those times."

Jeff's eyes widened at that while Jane just looked curiously between the two of them. Zatanna knew that the brown-haired man was about to protest again, so she cut him off before he could. "I'm asking, just this once, to turn around and do as I say. Please."

Jeff clenched his hands tightly into fists. It was clear he was not happy with her as he scowled. "Fine, have it your way," he finally said. "But don't get yourself killed, okay?"

Zatanna gave him a cocky smirk. "This is me we're talking about."

"I know, that's why I said it." Jeff then began walking to the door, never looking back at the dark-haired woman as he opened the room door and stepped out.

There was a moment of silence before Zatanna added, "You too, Jane."

Her friend seemed taken back by that, but then reached out and wrapped an arm around the magician's shoulders. "You take care of yourself, you hear me?" Jane said before releasing her, standing up and following Jeff out of the room.

Once the door closed, Zatanna sucked in a deep breath before looking at the television once more. Grabbing the remote, she turned the set off before she got to work, grabbing her performance costume and lying it on the bed. Stripping out of her pajamas, she began putting the costume on, first her blouse, her nimble fingers buttoning it up quickly. She then sat on the bed and painstakingly pulled on her fishnet stockings one leg at a time, which was then followed by her bottoms. Soon after, she had her shoes, gloves, bowtie, and suit jacket on in quick fashion. She ran a brush through her hair to make it the least bit presentable before she carefully placed her father's top hat on her head.

She briefly considered some make-up, but decided this wasn't the time for it. Well, maybe a quick application of lip stick. She picked up the small tube and open it, rubbing it on her lips and pressing them together.

There, now she was ready. Grabbing her room key, she stuffed it into a pocket on her jacket and strode out of her hotel room. Next stop, Wayne Manor.


	11. Hurt

Red hair trailed behind her as Barbara rushed through the hospital doors. Frantically, her eyes shot this way and that until she found the front desk, dashing to it an instant later. She nearly crashed into it, using her hands and arm to brace herself against causing any unnecessary damage.

There was a nurse sitting behind the counter and she was clearly surprised by the redhead's entrance. Barbara didn't even give her a chance to ask what was wrong when she demanded, "Can you tell me where Jim Gordon is?"

Instantly, the nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to give out that information. I'm going to have to—"

Barbara didn't bother listening to the nurse as she immediately slammed her purse onto the counter, ripping the zipper open and dug into the bag until she found her wallet. Pulling it out, she flipped it open and flashed her driver's licence into the woman's face. "I'm Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter. Please, tell me where he is!"

The nurse scanned the licence, eyes darting between it and the young girl's frantic face. A moment later, she tilted her head up to get a better look at her and said, "Third floor. Go to the nurse's station and go down the hallway next to it and take a left at the end."

"Thank you," Barbara breathed out relieved. Feeling a little more relaxed, she asked, "Can you tell me the room number."

"Trust me, you'll know which room it is when you get there."

Slightly disappointed, Barbara swept her purse off the desk and quickly walked over to the elevators, punching the up button over and over until the one of the many elevator doors slid open. Impatiently, she waited for the people already on board to get off before she shot in and hit the 3 button.

It took what felt like a minute before she reached the floor, stepping off and following the nurse's directions. She immediately found the nurse's station, making note of a police officer leaning on the counter. He wasn't facing her and the redhead didn't bother getting his attention as she took off down the hall at a fast clip. She reached the end in no time and made the left turn.

She then realized just what the nurse meant. In front of one of the doors she found were four cops stationed in the hall, two on stools on either side of a closed door and two leaning against the wall across the hall. Steeling herself, Barbara approached the officers.

One of the cops leaning against the wall saw her first and thankfully recognized her. "Here to see your dad?" he called out to her as she neared them. Nodding her head, the officer looked to his fellow guards and gestured to them to let her in. One of the seated one even opened the door for her.

Entering the hospital room, the door closing behind her, she was struck by the number of machines that surrounded her father's bed. She couldn't help but let out a sob at the sight of her dad lying in the bad, wires and tube sticking out of him. She didn't even know what it was all for, but she knew enough to know that he couldn't be in good shape.

It was as if her body was stunned by the sight. Somehow, she managed to stumble around the bed, reaching a chair on its other side and dropped into it. She glanced at one of the monitors and saw several numbers for pulse ox, heart rate, and blood pressure. If any of those medical dramas she saw were right, everything looked alright, though a bit low.

There was a lump in the redhead's throat. She wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. She hadn't ever seen her dad like this; it was like looking at a nightmare and one she was desperate to wake up from.

Suddenly, the door opened and a doctor walked in. He was tall, balding African American guy with enough wrinkles to show he had been around the block quite a few times. He seemed surprised to see her in the room and asked, "Can I help you?"

Swallowing, Barbara ridded herself of the lump and answered, "I'm the commissioner's daughter. I just got here."

The doctor nodded his head in acceptance and walked up to her father. He pulled off his stethoscope and placed the earbuds into his ears. Taking the diaphragm, he placed it on her father's chest and began listening, occasionally moving it to different parts of the man's chest.

Barbara stayed quiet, watching the doctor perform his assessment. It wasn't until he began jotting things down on a clipboard that she asked, "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"As far as we can tell, your father's been poisoned," the doctor answered. "Unfortunately, we don't know with what exactly. When he was brought in, he was unconscious, so we weren't sure as to what his medical emergency was until he began laughing."

Barbara frowned. "Laughing?"

The older man nodded. "Yes. It was...manic. I'd never seen anything like it. Fortunately we got his tox screen around then and found he had been administered a sedative at some point." The doctor then jestered to an IV pole, a bag with some writing on it that Barbara couldn't read due to where she sat. "So we're administering a similar sedative to prevent another episode. However, due to its risk of respiratory depression, we had to intubate your father to prevent aspirations."

This brought the young girl's attention to the tube sticking out of her father's mouth. "How…" she stopped to choke back another sob. "How long is he going to be out?" she managed to get out.

"Unfortunately, I don't know. We're currently studying the toxin we found in his bloodstream and attempting to create an antidote. Until then, we're keeping him sedated. There's a possibility his body will be able to break the toxin down between now and if we create an antidote, but there's no timetable for that."

Barbara nodded her head slowly, tears forming around her eyes. "Wh...what is all this stuff?" she asked, gesturing to it in an attempt to distract herself.

The doctor gave her a thin smile before he began pointing. "The tube under his nose is a nasal cannula, which is providing him with a steady stream of oxygen. It's currently set at three liters. You've noticed the g-tube in his mouth, which also has a closed system suctioning apparatus, so we can clear out secretions in his respiratory system."

The doctor continued like this, pointing at the heart monitor, blood pressure cuff, IV ports that had fluids and medications running into him, and so on. It wasn't much of a distraction, but Barbara was glad for it. It kept her mind off of the poison currently in her father's veins, attempting to kill him.

All too soon though, the doctor finished his demonstration and left the room, leaving Barbara to the deafening silence of the room. With only the sight of her father's comatose body in front of her and her own tormenting thoughts, the redhead brought her legs up onto her chair and wrapped her arms around them, her gathered tears falling down her face. She did her best to keep quiet, lest her father hear her crying. Hearing was the last thing to go when someone was dying and she didn't want him to worry about her.

That still didn't stop an occasional choked sob to escape her lips.

* * *

><p>It was in the air, you could practically taste it. It was defeat.<p>

After last night and with a huge chunk of the department taken out, it was understandable why many of the boys in blue would be down.

Bullock sneered at it all. Yeah, last night was bad, the worst that he could recall, but he wasn't about to let it get him down. Oh no, if there was one thing that Harvey Bullock refused to do it was not get back up after taking one to the kisser. That would be admitting the other guy got a good hit on you. That was weakness right there and that was never a good thing when you were in the middle of a shark tank.

Someone with some balls was going to have to take change, especially now that the com'mish was out of commission. Of all the times to take a day off and enjoy the company of Jack and Daniels, it had to be that day. He had excused himself by taking a day off, not thinking like most people that nothing bad, or really bad as it was in the GCPD, was going to happen.

Joke was on them it seemed.

While over five hundred people died last night, he was in some no-name bar getting drunk off his ass. That was his big night last night. Nothing special, nothing fantastic, just him getting drunk off his ass like he did on all of his days off.

Yet if it hadn't been for that, he would have been out there, probably dead too.

How much of the police department got annihilated, he couldn't say or no one had said yet, but they had lost over half of their SWAT. Anyone who was off-duty was now on to make up for the loss of manpower and that was where that air of defeat came in. Made him want to puke.

There were some signs of life in this place; Essen was hard at work, but even he could tell that she was overwhelmed. Maybe it was because she was the only one really doing anything around here, his Rook not counting because she was getting him some coffee, but that was beside the point.

Still, at least Essen had something to keep her down. He wasn't blind, he could tell how close she had been getting with Gordon and that the com'mish, that old dog, was warming up to her. They were close and that was the only reason she had to be down in the dumps, what with him in the hospital and not knowing if he was ever going to get up.

And there she was, working her ass off. Being a real model and shit for everyone to live up to.

Not like Boles over there ,who was doing his best to not be doing anything productive that the sergeant could tell. Or Cort, who seemed to be talking into the phone a lot and sounding angry. Or by the book Kitch who was...probably being by the book or something. Actually, come to think of it, he couldn't see Kitch right now, but he had to be doing something.

None of it actually accomplishing anything. The thought didn't count in his book, especially not after last night.

The smell of crappy, instant coffee met his nose, disturbing his thoughts.

"Sorry, we've run out of coffee grounds and all that's left is this," Montoya told him as she held her own crappy coffee, not taking a sip of. Most likely waiting for him to try it first and see if he keeled over.

However, the news that they were out of coffee grounds to make something that was more decent than instant coffee caused something to snap. What had this department come to when it couldn't keep a steady supply of decent-tasting coffee? Oh no, this shit wouldn't stand.

"Eh! Who forgot to get more coffee?" he demanded as he stood up abruptly from behind his desk, glaring at all the officers who stared at him blankly.

Like hell he was going accept silence as his answer.

"Okay, that's it. What happened to you guys? Why are you all acting like your balls dropped off? Someone answer me!" He glared at everyone in the room, not caring who they were.

"If you haven't been paying attention, Bullock, half of the department was wiped out last night," a voice said dryly.

In response, Bullock turned his glare in the general direction of the voice that had spoken up. "And I bet you're doing a great job at honoring their memory by moping around here and not working to find the murdering bastard responsible. Yeah, you look like you've been doing a great job there.

"Are you really going to let that freaking clown get the last laugh here? Just let him get away with it? If that's what you're doing, you might as well give up your badge and gun because that is not acceptable. Not for cops. Not for this Godforsaken city. And especially not for those guys who were slaughtered. I ain't going to pretend that you give two shits about the people who died last night, but I expect for you all to give two shits about the maniac responsible. If he can do this to those guys, our guys, he can do it to _you_.

"We were caught with our pants down last night. Everybody was, but I'm not okay with letting this _joker_ get the last laugh. There's only going to be one person getting the last laugh out of this one and it's going to be me when I throw him into the deepest, darkest pit in Blackgate and close the door on his ass."

He emphasized his point by slamming his hand on his desk.

Probably not the best idea to do that because now the palm of his hand was smarting, but he refused to wince. He was not going to show a sign of weakness to these guys. None of them deserved to see a second of weakness from him.

Montoya was in his peripheral and man was she wide-eyed. Surprised? That's what she got for underestimating him. Had this been any other time, he might have cracked a joke at her expense, even if it was in his head.

Today, though, he didn't feel like doing that.

"Now that is something I like to hear."

He blinked and slowly turned his head, his body twisting so that he could get a look at a newcomer, a woman by the looks of it. Long, graying hair, one of the sternest faces he had ever seen on a woman, not counting his fourth grade math teacher, and very professionally dressed, she stood out like a Fruit Loop in a bowl of Cheerios.

The very professionally-dressed bodyguards flanking her were a sign to be careful here.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Fuck being careful.

"For the time being, I am the interim mayor, Marion Grange," the woman introduced herself.

Never heard of her.

"Since the current commissioner is not able to serve this office, I am looking for someone to fill his shoes until he can get back on his feet," Grange continued. "I believe I've found a candidate already."

The other "men" in the room began to protest, shouting at the top of their lungs to either reconsider or to not make the biggest mistake of her life. They were ignored as this mayor lady stared Bullock down, ignoring all the noise.

Meanwhile, he was the one being all quiet. Looking away he said, "I'll have to turn ya down."

"It's not up for discussion. For the time being, you will be the acting commissioner." Before Bullock could say anything, she cut him off. "As the acting commissioner, I want you to bring in every single officer available with the sole purpose of capturing this Joker and bringing him to justice. I want some figures on our manpower so that I can decide whether or not to bring in the National Guard. The governor's already offered to send them in, but I would rather this remain local, if you understand my meaning. I don't care how you do this, all that matters is bringing this murderer down. Do you you understand?"

Again, he wanted to say no, but this lady...this Grange didn't look like she was going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, have it your way, but once Gordon's cleared, I'm stepping aside. You got that?" Now Bullock was staring her down, but he didn't seem to have the same effect as Grange.

"So long as we understand one another. Now, Commissioner Bullock, do your job."

* * *

><p>Zatanna shut her car down as soon as she put it in park. Car door swinging open and slamming shut after she climbed out of it, she hurried to the front door of Wayne Manor. The sky was overcast, dark grey clouds blotting out the sun as they created an ominous atmosphere. Reaching the front door, she grabbed the knocker and slammed it hard several times to make sure she had been heard.<p>

Every minute that had passed on her way here had filled her with urgency. Her mind had battled over Bruce's possible fate over and over, crossing over the line of feeling fear over his potential death to confidence that he was perfectly okay, that he had to be fine. Needless to say, it hadn't been a comfortable drive up here.

It also didn't help that Pennyworth was taking his time opening the door either. The dark-haired woman's first wait here had been unexpectedly short; this time minutes and seconds drug on for what felt like eons. Yeah, she was impatient, but who wouldn't be in her cute shoes?

The moment she heard the door knob turn, Zatanna felt her spirits raise, Pennyworth's head popping out. "Ms. Zatara," he greeted her, "this is a most unexpected surprise."

"Yeah, I know, sorry," she immediately replied. "But I heard from the news what happened and they didn't mention a thing about Bruce, so I had to know if he was okay or not."

Pennyworth stared at her for a moment before he stepped aside, opening the door for her. "I believe this is a conversation best suited in private. Please, come in."

That caused a mixed response in Zatanna. The butler had neither confirmed or denied her suspicions, which only served to up her worry even more. Was Bruce okay or not, damn it?! Still, she didn't decline the invitation and walked into the manor, seeing the familiar carpet in the foyer, the large W alerting all that this was indeed the Wayne household.

The moment the door shut, Pennyworth continued their conversation. "As to any concerns that you may have in regards to Master Bruce's well-being, I can assure you he is quite alright."

This time, relief flooded within Zatanna, the woman's face reflecting that very emotion. "Oh thank God." She let out a sigh then. "I can't tell you how much that means to me, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Please Miss, Alfred will suffice."

Alfred, Pennyworth, whatever. She didn't really care about the butler's name at the moment. "Is there any way I can see Bruce?" she asked instead.

Alfred hesitated, which served to make alarms ring in the dark-haired woman's head. "I...don't believe this is the most adventitious time for a visit, Miss."

"What? Why not?"

The older man stayed silent for a moment—and what a long freaking moment that was—as he thought about the words he was about to say. "Last night has taken a toll on the master. You can imagine he's not taking it all that well. He has yet to rest since he arrived in the cave and is working on a possible cure to the toxin the Joker released last night."

"He...he's been working all this time?" Zatanna was having a hard time grasping that. Wasn't it the job of scientists and doctors to figure that kind of stuff out? What, did everyone expect Bruce to solve everything, or something? "Alfred, I think you need to let me see him."

Alfred stared at her before he acquiesced to her request. "Very well. If you would follow me."

The butler then led her down a hallway, this one different from the one he had led her previously to the sitting room. It wasn't long until the elderly man came to a door and opened it, allowing Zatanna to enter first before he passed through the doorway. The first thing Zatanna noticed about the room was that it seemed dark, at least when compared to the sitting room. There was a desk towards one end of the room a couple of bookshelves behind it against the wall. The ticking of a grandfather clock filled her ears as she looked about the room, soon stopping on a portrait hanging on the wall.

This was the only thing one could call a decoration in the room. Two people stood next to each other, a man and a woman, the man wrapping an arm around the woman. The man reminded her a lot of Bruce, with his strong features and build.

"Master Bruce's parents," Alfred simply spoke next to her, startling Zatanna out of her inspection. Holding an arm out, he then said, "This way," and walked over to the clock. Curiously, the dark-haired woman followed him, coming to a stop shortly after. The butler raised a hand up and with one finger moved the minute hand around several times until he reached some random time, or at least that's the way it looked to Zatanna. He then opened the door beneath the clock face, giving him access to the swinging pendulum. Catching it on its upward swing, Alfred lowered it down to its neutral position and pulled it down. An audible sound was made, something that reminded Zatanna of an unlocking lock.

The grandfather clock then swung forward, Alfred assisting it as he stepped backwards, and a doorway was revealed. Okay, now this looked familiar. The last time she had been led her, she hadn't been paying attention, instead focused on Bruce so she missed the whole moving clock thing. Now that she was paying attention, she felt as if she had just stepped into a James Bond movie where she was about to enter the villain's secret lair. Glancing to Alfred, who just looked at her stoically, the dark-haired woman steeled her nerves, adjusted her jacket to make sure it was straight, and took a deep breath before walking through the secret entrance.

The first thing she came to was a set of descending stairs. Oh yeah, Bruce was most definitely a Bond fan. Again, they were familiar, but she hadn't been of any mind to really notice them. Perhaps she needed to work on that. Walking down the dimly-lit staircase, she couldn't help but notice that they were obviously man-made. The edges were too straight to be a natural formation. The sound of her high-heels clicking and clacking on the steps accompanied her descent, as well as Alfred's softer steps behind her.

Eventually, the two reached the bottom, but even then Zatanna came to a quick halt several steps beforehand. Yeah, she'd been here before, but that still didn't take away from the awe-inspiring sight before her. From the enormous computer set-up, raised platforms that held everything from a sleek car and motorcycle to a medical center, to what looked like some sort of exercise gym, she took in everything again. It became painfully obvious that a lot of planning and building had gone into this set-up and she was suitably impressed. Again.

That was when she heard a steady chirping above her head. Frowning, she didn't remember hearing any of those sounds the last time she had been down here. Tilting her face up, she stared at the mass of furry bat bodies hanging above her. She almost squeaked in fright from this discovery, but held that embarrassing reaction at bay. She wasn't a big fan of small, furry rodents, which incidentally included those upside-down hanging bastards up there. Now was as good of a time as any to look away and pretend that they didn't exist.

Yep, look away and assume that what you don't see is not really there.

Looking away…

She wasn't looking away.

A soft coughing finally managed to penetrate her stupefied mind, causing her to flinch and shake her head to rid herself of her distracting thoughts. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Alfred a weak smile, who, bless his heart, was pretending he hadn't been watching her gaping like an idiot at the normal cave occupants. "Umm, where's Bruce?" she asked weakly.

The butler nodded his head before stepping around her and finishing the descent down the staircase, Zatanna following him quickly. Once they were on the cave floor, Alfred led them towards the computer, angling himself to a long table that the magician had yet to notice. It was then she spotted Bruce, almost invisible due to the coloring of his Batman suit. In fact, he was in full regalia, from the heavy-set boots to the pointed mask. He was currently hunched over a microscope, looking at something he considered worthy of his attention.

Alfred and Zatanna came to a stop a few feet from the dark-clad man, both patiently waiting for his acknowledgement. It never came. It wasn't until Alfred finally cleared his throat and addressed the guy that anything happened. "Master Bruce, you have a guest. Ms. Zatara is here to see you."

Bruce immediately answered, "Not now. I'm busy." Quick, succinct, and to the point; all of which pointed to a clear blow off that annoyed Zatanna.

When the butler turned to her with an apologetic look on his face, he said, "I apologize for the master's behavior. He—"

"You don't have to apologize for a thing," Zatanna interrupted him. "Thanks for bringing me here Alfred, but sometimes a woman's touch is required to crack a tough nut."

A ghost of a smile appeared on the older man's face. "Very well. If you require my services, you can find me in the medical bay." He then pivoted on his feet and briskly walked off, leaving Zatanna with Bruce's glacial form of a cold shoulder.

"You know, I was worried about you," she spoke off after a moment, receiving no answer in response, much as she expected it. She faintly recalled their first few meetings where she had tried to speak with him, only to have the slightly older boy ignore her as he went about his duties for her father. A confidence crusher to be sure, but she had learned how to crack that tough exterior back then, and she was made of tougher stuff now. Closing the distance between then, she came to stop next to the dark-clad man and the table, peeking over his shoulder at his work. "I'm glad to see you're alright after the news didn't even bother mentioning your name."

Again, he didn't reply, instead adjusting one of the knobs on the microscope. So she tried another tactic. "So what are you working on? Something important?"

Nothing. Sheesh, what bat crawled up his belfry? Heh, that was actually a good one. Seeing she wasn't making progress here, she then looked a nearby rack of vials with stoppers plugged into their openings, some sort of liquid in them. With a curious eye, she reached out to the vials with a gloved hand. "What are these?"

That got a reaction. Before the dark-haired woman could touch a vial, Bruce's hand grabbed her by the wrist, squeezing tightly, much to her discomfort. He had a really strong grip, ya know. "Don't touch that," he demanded, tearing his face from the microscope to look at her.

"Alright, I won't touch," she said to placate him. Considering he was still holding her arm, it was clear that it hadn't. "What is that stuff, anyways?"

"Joker Venom." _What was that?_ "It's extremely dangerous, so don't touch anything."

"Well, if you had just told me that to begin with, I wouldn't have tried. Now, are you planning on cutting off the blood to my fingers, or are you going to let go? Because I do intend on using that hand in the future."

Bruce finally released her, turning back to his microscope. "What are you doing here, Zana?" he asked her.

At the use of his pet name for her, she lit up. Yep, she had finally managed to get through to Mr. Grumpy there. "Like I said, to check up on you."

"And as you can see, I'm fine. You can go now."

Zatanna frowned at that. Well that was rude. "Wow, is that how you treat people who care for you? I'd hate to see how you are around people you despise."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm working." At this, he picked up some long, thin dropper, sticking it into a nearby beaker that held some yellow liquid in it, and sucking up some of it. He then brought it up to the stage on the microscope, holding it over the slide that was clipped to it, and slowly squeezed out a drop. "So if it's not too much trouble, I need you to get out of my way."

Okay, this was going too far. Scowling at him, she noted how his jaw clenched at what he was seeing through the optics before he straightened out his posture. He then pulled the slide out and tossed it into a red bucket, the sound of glass clinking against each other telling the dark-haired woman he had been through a lot of slides.

"How long have you been at this?" she demanded. "Five? Six hours?"

Amazingly enough, he deign to answer her question. "All night."

Zatanna looked at him incredulously. "Why? Why would you do this to yourself? You have to be dog tired by now!"

Bruce turned his head to glare at her, one that made her flinch from its coldness. "In case you hadn't noticed, there are people dead in the streets because of that." At this, he pointed a finger right at the plugged vials. "And if it takes me the rest of the week, I will find the way to neutralize it. Gotham's depending on me too. Now _back_..._off_…"

His biting, chilled words; the angered set of his face, the part that she could see; the stiff posture of his body; it all created the sight of a man bubbling with rage and was a straw away from lashing out. Bruce was angry and Zatanna couldn't blame him for why. But when you removed a person's anger, hurt was usually what was left and it plain to her that Bruce was hurting. With every failure he met, the more frustrated he got, and that torrent of anger, hurt, and frustration was doing a serious pummeling on him.

So when he turned away from her to go about his next experiment, Zatanna immediately closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around neck. Instantly, he shot a hand up to grab her arm again, an attempt to stop her, but she would not be stopped. Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she settled it on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. She then lowered her head to rest on his upper back, the brim of her top hat bumping into the back of the dark-clad man's neck before it popped off her head. The hat fell to the cave floor, where it landed and rolled off a short distance away along its side. This allowed Zatanna to press her forehead against his back, holding Bruce's stiff body to her.

The two of them just stood there in Zatanna's embrace, neither one making a move to end it. The dark-haired woman stared down the endless expanse of his cape, lazily gazing at the ruffles. She could feel how tense Bruce was as he held himself ramrod straight. Sucking in a deep breath, Zatanna closed her eyes and continued to hold him.

It was a while before she felt it. Bruce seemed to sag where he stood, his previous tension draining out of him. Zatanna kept him in her embrace until she was sure that whatever fight was in him was gone.

Keeping her arms around him, the dark-haired woman slowly stepped around him until she was at his side. Dropping her closest arm off his shoulder, she gently grabbed his hand and slowly stepped towards the chair in front of his computer. Bruce didn't resist, allowing her to lead him to the chair, even after she dropped her other arm from his shoulder.

When they reached the chair, she guided him to sit in it, to which he roughly plopped into it. Keeping her best face on, she stared at his masked face, the white lens looking back her. Carefully, she then raised both of her hands and placed them on either side of his head, keeping them there for several moments as they continued to gaze at each other.

Then, she slowly pulled up, removing the black mask off of the man's head until she saw his face. Tired didn't even begin to describe the way Bruce looked. His eyes shown with exhaustion, his usually firm face slack. Still, Zatanna kept her blue eyes on his, never once looking away from him.

However, high-heeled shoes were not the footwear to be kneeling down in front of someone. While that was probably the acceptable gesture to make, Zatanna instead turned to her side and took a seat on one of Bruce's thighs. It was a much more intimate gesture to be sure, but considering his state of mind at the moment perhaps it was the one he needed.

There was a lot Zatanna wanted to say then, just something to help soothe and comfort the man, but what could she say? It wasn't his fault? It was out of his hands? No one's blaming you for this? All of it sounded patronizing and she felt would only serve to drive him further into this dark cloud that hovered over him. So she said nothing, letting silence fall over them as she once more raised her arms up, crossing one over his chest to rest on shoulder again while the other went behind his head so she could cradle it. Bruce leaned his head forward in acceptance of the gesture, placing the side of it against her chest, allowing her to hold him.

And they stayed that way for quite some time. At one point, the dark-haired woman caught sight of Alfred standing on one of the raised platforms, looking towards them. He then dropped his head down, then raised it back up, a nod in acknowledgement of their embrace. Then he seemed to fade away into the darkness of the cave and Zatanna had to wonder if she had even seen that to start with.

Not that it mattered. What did was the man against her and she held onto him for as long as he needed it, the occasional chirping of the bats above keeping them company.


	12. A Cure

A low groan filled the small apartment. Watching from a dark corner, Batman observed Huntress scrunch her face up as she began to wake up, her body sprawled on her couch.

It had taken the better part of two days before the vigilante had developed an antidote. A part of that time had been spent reluctantly in bed after Zatanna had intruded into the cave and forced him to take a break. He couldn't fault her for her actions though, they were for the best, but it didn't quite rid him of the thought that had he kept working, he could've found the cure sooner.

Perhaps that was just the rebel in him, but regardless, he worked quite a while on his anti-toxin formula and Huntress had been his guinea pig. In fact, he had given her the antidote some time ago and had been waiting to see what would happen. The steady stream of sedatives Alfred had given her had definitely kept her out and it appeared its effects were just now wearing off.

Slowly, the dark-haired woman shifted up on her couch, taking in her surroundings dumbly. Apparently she hadn't been expecting to wake up in her own apartment, though there was no telling what she should have been expecting.

"My head," she groaned as she leaned back onto the couch, a hand going up to massage her temple. She had to pause for a moment when her fingers touched her mask, giving her pause for only a moment before she ripped it off her face and tossed it to the floor. Finally with access to her forehead, she began to rubbed deeply.

Watching her for a moment, Batman finally decided to get on with his assessment of her condition. "You're awake," he spoke.

Bertinelli froze instantly before she jerked herself up, whipping her head around to stare at the vigilante. Her eyes were wide for only a second before her face winced from her headache. "What are you doing here?" she gasped out.

"Making sure you're alright." Take a step forward, he slowly closed the distance between them until he stood a couple short steps away.

"Alright from what? Did something happen?"

So she had no memory of her drugging; Batman wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad thing. "A couple nights ago, the Joker unleashed a toxic gas on Gotham. Killed a lot of people and you were exposed to it."

The dark-haired woman soaked this in, eventually turning in her seat to rest her back against the sofa, her feet touching down on the floor. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

She started to give a low whistle, but thought better about it. "If you wouldn't mind, can you grab me a Motrin or Tylenol, or something? My head's killing me."

Batman nodded his acknowledgement before he disappeared into Bertinelli's bedroom, heading to her bathroom. There he located her medicine cabinet, opening it, and grabbed the bottle of Tylenol. Returning to the main room, he found Bertinelli sitting where he had left her. Moving into the kitchen, he then searched for a glass, found one, and filled it halfway with water. Finally, he walked over to the woman and handed her the glass and the pill bottle.

Accepting the bottle first, Bertinelli twisted off the cap and dump a couple pills into her hand. Placing the bottle on the coffee table, she then tossed the pills into her mouth as she took the glass of water, taking a large gulp. Once she swallowed, she continued to drain the glass until it was empty. "Thanks," she muttered once she was done.

Batman's eyes soaked in everything about the woman, from her body language to her facial expressions. So far it didn't seem like there were any lingering effects of the Joker Venom. "Can you take care of yourself from here?" he asked her.

"I think so," she responded, not looking at him. A moment later, she tilted her head up and said, "Thanks, by the way. I take it you saved my life."

The dark-clad man simply nodded his head in answer.

"You also said some people died. How many?"

Batman hid his revulsion at the question and bluntly answered, "574."

Bertinelli jerked back in surprise and horror. "You can't be serious," she sputtered out after awhile. Upon seeing his unchanging face, she quickly realized he wasn't. "I'm the only one that survived?"

"You and one other person, but otherwise yes, there were no other survivors."

Stunned didn't even begin to describe the look on the dark-haired woman's face. Batman didn't really have a good way to describe it as she just sat there, staring at him, almost pleading with him to say that he was wrong. Unfortunately, he couldn't say that and passively watched as she dropped her head down, focusing on the floor between her feet.

This conversation of theirs was exhausted at this point; what more could you say considering the subject matter? In as gentle of a voice as he could muster, he said, "If there was ever a time for you to get out of this sorry business you're determined to undertake, now is that time. It's only going to get worse from here. You're life's been spared for the moment, but there's no guarantee that next time you won't be as fortunate. Give some serious thought to this, and if that isn't enough, think about the children you teach. If the Joker or someone like him ever finds out about your real identity, they'll be the next people to face their wrath."

Feeling that he had said his piece, Batman pivoted on his feet and left the room, heading for the open window in the bedroom. If Bertinelli said anything else, he didn't hear it. It was just as well; he had another appointment to keep for tonight.

* * *

><p>A gentle breeze brushed against Barbara's face, stirring her from her sleep. The couch in her father's hospital room wasn't all that comfy, but it made due for a makeshift bed, not that she could sleep all that well.<p>

Yawning, the redhead raised a hand to her face and rubbed one of her closed eyes as she tried to rid it of sleep. What time was it anyway? Considering the lights were down and the room was fairly dark, it must've been nighttime. This was starting to look like another sleepless night. Glancing to the window, she was having a hard time remember if she had left it open. She didn't recall doing that, but she had been under stress lately. Perhaps she forgot.

Looking to her father's bed, she noticed something was blocking her view of the man, something that caused her to frown. She had a good view of the commissioner's face no matter where she sat in the room. Had some nurse put a machine between her and her father? Well that was mighty annoying. Looking at it, she couldn't tell much other than it was pretty wide, dark, and had two pointed tips at the top.

It was a second later before she focused on that description and came to the realization that there wasn't a new machine in the room.

Shooting up as her hands and arms supported her upper body, her blanket sliding down until it piled around her hips, Barbara stared in astonishment. The blurriness of her vision due to exhaustion was fading away, giving way to what she knew was a person. She'd been dreaming about this moment for a long time; maybe not this way mind you, but definitely a time where she wasn't gagged and bound to a rotting chair.

"It's you," she unconsciously spoke softly.

The head of the Batman tilted to a side, one of his blank white eyes glancing at her for a moment before he turned his head back to her father. It seemed he wasn't interested in talking, not that Barbara minded. She was currently squealing in her head that she was seeing the vigilante up close again. This was so freaking awesome!

However, it became quickly apparent that just sitting in the dark was not the most comfortable of moments. Barbara hadn't ever considered herself the type to just blab endlessly and without reason, but right now she found herself wanting to do just that.

So she did. "He seems to be doing okay," she said, watching him carefully for any reaction. It was pretty obvious who she was talking about. "The doctors are working on a way to get that poison out of him."

When he didn't answer her still, the redhead carried on. "I know this will mean a lot to him, you being here. I know he won't ever say it, but I thought you should know since your friends and all. He'd wanna do the same if it was you, not that you'd ever end up in a hospital bed or anything like that." Oh boy, she was really blabbering now. _Okay, Gordon, listen up. Quit acting like a dumb-dumb and start being the cool, sophisticated girl you are._

Her train of thought was interrupted when she noticed Batman moving. His left hand emerged from his cape, holding two small, long objects. Barbara had to squint to figure out what they were. Hey, it was dark and she couldn't see all that well, give her a break! From her inspection, she noted some sort of orange fluid in them and small dashes running up and down the objects. Catching sight of what appeared to be numbers, she deduced that they were needle-less syringes.

Placing one down on the side table next to the bed, Batman moved the other one in front of him and began doing something that she couldn't see due to his body acting as a natural door instead of a window. "What is that?" she asked.

"The antidote," the vigilante answered succinctly, causing Barbara's head to shoot up.

"The antidote? Where did you get it? How?" she rapidly fired off. There were just a few of the questions running wild in her head. More importantly, hope was soaring through her body as she watched the vigilante undoubtedly administering the drug through one of dad's IV ports.

And just as she suspected, Batman soon placed an empty syringe on the table next. His body turned slightly, so that he could get a better look at her as he addressed her. The second syringe was in his hand now and he was holding it out to her. "Make sure the doctors get this," he told her. "They can synthesize more of it using this."

Barbara started at the vigilante, humbled by his request. _He _was trusting _her _to do something for her. Oh geez, oh god, was she going to faint? She was going to faint. No! No, she couldn't do that right now. Maybe later.

With a shaky hand, she reached out and accepted the syringe, Batman pulling his hand back and hiding it behind his cape. Barbara stared at the antidote in her hand for a moment, marveling at its potential before looking up at the vigilante. "How long will it take to work?" she asked him. "When will my dad be awake?"

"Depends on how long his sedative lasts," he grunted to her. "He'll need to recuperate though, so he should be staying in the hospital for the next few days."

Barbara nodded her head before a thought occurred to her. By giving her this syringe, did he have any left for him? That was assuming the Joker had more of this stuff and wouldn't hesitate to use it again. "This antidote," she said, "do you have any more on you? I mean, you might need some if the Joker tries to gas the city again."

"I can make more," he replied. _Oh my god, he made this stuff? Awesome!_ "What's important is that this gets mass produced for consumption before more Joker Venom is unleashed. We can't afford to be surprised again."

"Joker Venom?"

Batman seemed to nod his head absently. "That's what he called it when I confronted him."

"Okay. Well, I'll let everyone know about this." The redhead stood up, the blanket falling off of her and onto the couch, partially hanging off. She started walking to the door before she turned her head around to speak again. "And thank you…"

And just like that, he vanished. It was as if he had never been there. Darting her eyes left and right, she soon realized that he was really gone. Heck, the empty syringe he had placed on the table was gone too. How had he done that? Just left the room without her even knowing it? Looking to the window, she noticed the currents billowing with the gentle blowing of the wind. Huh, so that explained why she had felt a breeze earlier.

Nevermind, she had something important to do. Turning back around, she went to the door and swung it open, surprising the guards in the hallway. "Can one of you get me the doctor?" she immediately asked.

"Why? Is something wrong with the commissioner?" one of them responded, all of them getting to their feet.

"No, actually I think he's going to get better," she replied, unable to hide her giddiness. She then held up the syringe in her hand, attracting all of their attention to it. "Someone came with this."

This time, all of the cops jerked their heads to the doorway, hands going to their gun holsters. "Who was it?" one of them demanded, making to enter the hospital room.

"Don't worry, it's okay," Barbara tried to calm them day. "It was just a guy who has a thing for bats, if you catch my drift.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to relaxed the officers like she thought it would. "You sure it was him? That it was the Batman?"

"Hey, I think I would recognize the guy that rescued me last year. Cut me _some_ slack."

It was then that one of them turned around and took off down the hall. The other three began to relax, though two of them brushed past the redhead and began inspecting the room and the commissioner, to make sure no foul play was a foot. The last cop was giving her a pointed look. "You should have told us he was here the moment he showed up," he said sternly.

Barbara wanted to protest that, but didn't get the chance as the policeman returned, a bewildered doctor in tow. Turning her attention to him, the young woman held the syringe out to him. "Here, this is the antidote for that poison in my dad."

"It is?" the doctor responded, hesitantly taking it and examining the syringe. "Where did you get this?"

Deciding that information was best kept quiet considering the reaction she got from the guards, Barbara replied, "Doesn't matter. What does matter is that you start making more of it."

"I'm going to have to run some tests on this," the doctor said. "I don't want to do anything that may worsen the commissioner's condition."

"Then run the test!" the redhead cried out exasperatedly. "Just be sure to save some of that since you're going to have to make more. And while you're at it, can you get a couple nurses down here? I don't think my dad will appreciate having a tube down his throat when he wakes up."

* * *

><p>"You know, Alfred, I believe this will be the start of a beautiful friendship."<p>

The butler glanced to the dark-haired woman as he set her suitcase down on the gravel driveway. "And to what do I owe this most unexpected compliment?"

Zatanna sauntered up to the front door of Wayne Manor. Sticking the house key she had filched from Alfred's pocket into the lock, she unlocked it and opened the door. "Because of your brilliant idea of allowing me to say here at the manor. I can't tell you how much I'll be saving on hotel bills for the next...how ever long I'm here."

Alfred lifted up the suitcase and carried it into the house. "If you wish to extend gratitude, I would recommend you do so to Master Bruce. After all, he was the one to extend the invitation."

"After you suggested driving me back. I'm sure the thought never would have occurred to him had you not mentioned it."

There was a twinkle in the older man's eye as he began making the trek to the massive staircase. "You assume much about me, Ms. Zatara. I am but a mere servant who must do as instructed by my employer, even one that may change their mind with the comings and goings of the wind."

Zatanna smirked. "Whatever you say. So, I take it you're showing me to a room?"

Alfred mounted the stairs, the dark-haired woman following him up them shortly after. "If you wish to investigate your lodging, you are free to do so. It is not an inconvenience for me to show you the room at a later time."

"Considering the late hours this household has, I think it'd be best if I knew now where I'll be crashing rather than waking you up in the middle of the night to show me."

"As it pleases you, Miss."

Alfred navigated the hallways for them until he reached one of the guest rooms, opening the door for the magician and showing her in. "You have access to all the amenities you may require during your stay. Bed, bath, a wardrobe for your possessions, and storage space for your luggage. There are some basic toiletries in the bathroom, so any additional personal items you may need will have to be provided on your own. There is an entertainment center that you may use at your preference. Is there anything else I can tend to?"

Zatanna looked about the bedroom, resisting the urge to whistle at its opulence. Oh yeah, this was _much_ better than some lame hotel room, even if it was one of the better ones in the city. None of them stood a chance in comparison to Bruce's place. "No, I think I can handle everything from here, except trying to find it. Do you a have a map up your sleeve that I can borrow?"

"I believe you are also owed a tour of the grounds, Ms. Zatara. If you wish, I can show you about the manor."

"No, no, that won't be necessary." She glanced around the room before looking at the butler. "But you can show me back to the study. Bruce should be coming back soon."

"Very good. Follow me."

Zatanna made sure to study the layout of the hall as Alfred led them back to the staircase. She was pretty sure she could remember the first couple of turns, but she faintly wondered if she shouldn't have left a trail of breadcrumbs just in case. Then again, since Alfred took care of the place, he probably would sweep the crumbs away the moment he saw them.

Soon enough, they had reached the stairs and, shortly after descending them, made their way to the study. Unlocking the secret passage, they soon entered the cave, though there was a distinct lack of Bruce anywhere. The same could be said of that car of his. For some reason, she found herself appreciating its...design...and...large motor…

Would Bruce let her ride shotgun in it one of these days?

And as if he were summoned by her thoughts, the echos of a loud car engine broke her reverie. Soon, the sleek, black car came roaring out of its tunnel, coming to a stop soon after. The canopy slid open and Bruce climbed out of it with practiced ease. It was still early in the evening though, not that long after nine o'clock.

Bruce strode over to his super-large computer, taking a seat in his chair as he began activating it. Sauntering over, Zatanna soon reached the dark-clad man and stood behind him, resting an arm lazily over the back of the chair. "Quiet night?" she chirped.

"Something like that," Bruce answered, fingers flashing over the keyboard. "Huntress and Gordon look like they'll be alright, so the antidote works."

"That's great news! So now what?"

"I find the Joker and put a stop to all of this."

"Mmm," Zatanna hummed. That seemed to be a good plan and all, though she didn't really know how he intended on accomplishing that. Besides, he'd been working on this antidote stuff for a long time. "You know, you've been working a lot lately."

Bruce was quiet after that. Either he was ignoring her remark, or he was giving her a silent "And?" Zatanna choice the second option. "Perhaps now would be a good time for you to rest. Get some sleep. You've earned it."

The man shook his head in response. "So far I've only been reacting to this madman. It's time I turned the tables and get out ahead of him. Otherwise he'll keep killing and destroying everything in sight."

Well, she really couldn't argue with that. With a sigh, she asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Again, she was given the silent treatment and it was really beginning to wear thin with her. Maybe that worked with Alfred, but she did not appreciate being ignored. The dark-haired woman was about to say as much before Bruce beat her to the punch. "I need to make more antidote. The Joker is sure to use his Joker Venom again, so I'm going to need to carry some on me at all times."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow at that. "Do I look like I know how to handle lab stuff?"

Bruce turned his head to regard her, staring with that creepy, unblinking stare. "Your fishnets should be able to provide some protection if anything spills on you."

Was...was that a joke? Zatanna glanced down at her legs and then back to the billionaire. "You have one messed up sense of humor, you know that?"

"I'm not the one wearing stockings in a cave. Didn't Alfred insist that you should wear pants down here?"

"He probably did, not that that'll stop me." A sly smirk grew on the woman's face. "I seemed to have an admirer down here that appreciates my legs. It'd be a shame if I were to cover them up."

"I'm sure the bats appreciate your commitment to their gratification."

"Oh, I know at least one of them does."

Movement from out of the corner of her eye caused Zatanna to turn her head. She saw Alfred standing in front of Bruce's lab set up, messing with something on the table. Hopefully it was that antidote stuff the dark-clad man kept talking about. "I think Alfred beat me to your lab."

Bruce turned his attention from her to the older man. Almost as if the butler could sense the younger man's gaze, Alfred said, "I believe I can handle things on this side of the cave, Master Bruce."

Zatanna beamed at the older gentleman before flashing Bruce a smile. "See? It's all under control."

"I noticed," he replied dryly.

Deciding to press her advantage, Zatanna said, "At least get out of that suit. I can't imagine it smells all that great in there. Besides, you need to eat something. I can't imagine working on an empty stomach is all that great."

Bruce returned his attention to her for a second before he went back to his computer. "Maybe later," he said absently.

Zatanna glared at him. "How much later?"

When she didn't get an answer, she figured that later was probably closer to never. Stepping away, she began making her way to the staircase. While the ambiance of a cave was nice and all, there was a bathtub upstairs that she preferred spending time in. In fact it was calling out for her and who was she to ignore a summons like that?


	13. A Bomb In A Haystack

He felt groggy. That was the first thing to come to him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this grogginess. He couldn't say when the last time he had felt it, or if he had ever.

Then there was his body. Had it always been this stiff and uncomfortable? It felt as if it had been lying in the same place for a year and every part of him was itching to move.

With a groan, Gordon shifted his body to relieve some of the stiffness. There was something on him making it difficult, especially something tight around his legs...whoa...they were vibrating! Hey, that kinda felt good.

Opening his eyes, the older man immediately shut them due to something very bright and burning assaulting his eyeballs. Oh, that was unpleasant. With a grunt, Gordon began opening his eyelids again, slower this time. That stinging sensation was still there, but it was going away. For some reason his vision was blurred though. Oh right, he didn't have his glasses on. Now where were those…

"Daddy?"

"Baa…" he immediately responded, his dry throat stopping him in his tracks. Damn, his throat was sore. Swallowing, he tried again. "Barb?" Eh, not a whole name, but close enough.

Turning his head, Gordon saw a blurred image of a thin person with redhead. Yeah, that's definitely how Barbara looked without his glasses. "You're awake," she said softly.

"Yeah, I am." Gordon winced. "And thirsty."

He saw Barbara move, picking up something and bringing it to him. "Here's some water," she said as she held some kind of jug in front of his face. "There's a straw right in front of your mouth, so…"

He didn't need any more instruction as he tilted his head up, mouth open as he felt a plastic straw pass through his lips. Clamping down, he started to suck, water flooding his mouth as he drank greedily. Oh, that hit the spot.

Once he was done, Gordon lay his head back on a pillow. It was then he began aware of some tube pressed against his face and ears, cool air being blown into his nostrils. Frowning, he asked, "Can you get me my glasses? I'd like to see again if that's alright."

Something was then stuck in front of the commissioner's face. Barbara had found his glasses pretty quick. Raising his hands up, he noticed one of his fingers had some weird band aid wrapped around it with a wire sticking out of it. He kept frowning until he put his glasses on, his sight clearing up as he noticed he was in a very unfamiliar room.

Looking around, Gordon soon came to the conclusion he was in a hospital room—his to be precise. "What's all this?"

There was a silence before he heard his daughter ask, "You don't remember, Daddy?"

Remember how he got here? Yeah, not a clue. Still, that made Gordon think back to what he lasted remembered and unfortunately everything was a blur. "Can't say that I do."

"There was an attack at City Hall…"

Okay, that sounded familiar.

"And you were poisoned."

"Poisoned?" he spoke up. "With what?"

"Something made by the Joker. He gassed the entire crowd that night. A...a lot of people died."

Gordon felt his stomach drop. "How many?"

Barbara hesitated. "I'm not sure…"

"Barbara, how many."

"A lot."

Gordon did not like how his daughter was evading his question. "Are we talking about ten or fifty people?"

"No. More."

"A hundred?"

"...more."

That was when the commissioner began to realize the number had to have been very high for Barbara to be so reluctant. He'd find out eventually, but right now he got the feeling he didn't want to know. Swallowing, Gordon decided to change the subject. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

Gordon's eyes bulged out of his head. "Three?!" he exclaimed before he was overtaken by a coughing fit. Hand shooting up in front of his face, he hacked and wheezed until he got himself under control, all the while Barbara had immediately shot to his bed, looking over him worriedly. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he waved her off as he began to relax again. "I just got too excited is all."

"You need to rest, Daddy. Okay?"

"I've done enough resting, Barb. What I need to know is what this poison is and how the doctors cured me. That way we can stop the Joker from using it again."

Barbara got hesitant again. "Well...it wasn't the doctors that figured it out…"

Okay, this was going too far. While Gordon loved his daughter very much, this meekness of hers was starting to set his teeth on edge. "That's enough Barbara," he reprimanded her, causing the redhead to jump from his tone. "I'm not some frail old man just yet, so quit treating me like one. Now tell me what I need to know."

That seemed to break Barbara out of her subservient attitude. "It was the Batman, Daddy," she told him confidently. "He showed up last night with the cure and gave it to you."

_Well, I'll be…_ Gordon hadn't been expecting that one. That pointy-eared guy was making it a habit to save the Gordon family it seemed. "So is more being made?"

The redhead nodded her head. "Yes. It took the doctors awhile to admit it was the antidote, but they've been making more nonstop since."

"Good. What about the GCPD?"

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, I haven't checked. I've been staying with you since you got here."

Gordon nodded his head. "Alright. I guess I can call in and see what's going on."

"Uh, no you're not." Gordon's daughter suddenly became very stern; for a moment he wondered if he prefered the meek Barbara at the moment. "You just woke up and you need to recover. The last thing you need is to give yourself a heart attack about work. So you can forget about making any calls until the doctor says you're better."

Everything in Gordon wanted to fight that mandate. Unfortunately, he was not a stupid man and he knew when to bow to stubborn women, just like Barbara at the moment. It was just easier in the long run if he agreed with her and did what he needed to do when she turned her back. It always worked out well in the end. "Fine," he gave in. Glancing to the television, he then added, "Can I at least get the news? I'd like to know what's going on outside the hospital."

Barbara narrowed her eyes at him, but did as he asked, turning on the television set. Unfortunately, the first thing to appear on the screen was some picture of a bird flapping its wings as some soft music began playing. Gordon supposed it was suppose to be relaxing, but it just annoyed him.

Fortunately, Barbara changed the channel until she found the closest news station. Turned out to be Channel 6, but he wasn't picky. "_And now with sports is Bruce Timms_."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon noticed his daughter moving the remote control to change the channel. "Hey now," he stopped her. "They're about to do the sports news."

Barbara raised an eyebrow at him. "Since when have you liked sports?"

"Since it just came on, now leave it be. You said you wanted me to rest and relax and all that. I find this relaxing."

"You're just saying that because you don't want me to change the channel."

A picture of last night's football game was playing, the quarterback handing off to the running back as the player dashed towards the left side of the offensive line before shooting through a hole and downfield. "Hey, it's the Knights," he responded. "I didn't know they played last night."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

And then suddenly, the television program cut off, being replaced with static. "Oh great, we lost the feed," Gordon complained. "And I really wanted to know who won."

"I'll try another channel," his daughter said as she aimed the remote at the TV. "See if it's just this channe—"

That was when the static disappeared, replaced with an eyeball that rolled left to right and back. "_Is this thing on?_" a voice asked.

Then the eye backed off until a face filled the screen. A very pale face with a sharp nose and green hair. "_Oh, it is!_" the man exclaimed. "_Ahem, hem, hem, greetings Gotham! Joker here!_"

Both Gordons froze in their seats as they stared at the television set. "_Sorry to interrupt the broadcast, but I've got an important announcement to make and it just couldn't wait for Brucie boy to finish telling you the Knights lost. Oh wait, did I just ruin the surprise? Whoops, sorry about that folks!_

"_Anyways, I had a great time at City Hall as well as many of Gotham's citizens. You could hear their laughter for miles they enjoyed it so much! So I figured, why let only a few people enjoy my fun? There's plenty of others that are just dying for a laugh, and I mean to give it to 'em!_"

"Is he talking about…" Barbara spoke softly.

"...what you think he's talking about?" Gordon finished for her. "I think so."

"_Now, I'm a fair kind of guy. There's so many people in this city and I can only visit so many of them, so I'm leaving it to chance! Starting tonight, a couple of my boys will be roaming the streets of Gotham with some of my lovely Joker Venom gift-wrapped in a homemade bomb I made. I even wrapped it myself, eh heh!_"

The camera panned away from the Joker's face showing a large 18-wheeler covered in graffiti. Large smiley faces and the words HA! HA! were painted onto the truck's trailer. Even more concerning was a side door was open, revealing a large, circular bomb. There were a couple of the Joker's men jumping out of the trailer as another began sliding the trailer's door shut.

The camera returned to the white-faced man then. "_There's a timer on it, though I'm not sure how long it'll last. It _is _a surprise after all. But you can bet when it's good and ready, it'll blow and give everyone a nice, big smile. The last one they'll _ever _have, ha, ha!_

"_So enjoy the party Gotham! You've earned it! And hopefully Mr. All-too-gloomy Batman will stop by too. I just know he's dying to smile, I can feel it! Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!_"

And then, as if he couldn't control himself, the Joker's laughter blasted out, "_Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!_"

The feed suddenly cut out then, the static replacing it. It took a moment before the new station managed to get their show back on, the anchorman immediately informing Gotham residents to get off the streets and protect themselves from whatever the Joker was planning.

"I think I want to call in now," Gordon said.

* * *

><p>Bruce had gotten half of his suit on by the time Zatanna caught up with him. The moment the Joker had announced his bomb threat, the dark-haired man had literally vanished from the room. How he had gotten to the cave so damn quickly, she had no clue, but she was here now attempting to reason with him. "Bruce, you can't go out there alone."<p>

"Yes, I can," he responded as he hauled his body armor out of its case and began slipping it over his head.

"I can help," she pleaded with him, trying to put herself between the billionaire and the rest of his suit. No such luck as he merely reached around her, grabbing one of the gauntlets and slipping it onto his hand.

"Will you listen to me?!" Zatanna barked out, her patience coming to an end.

Bruce actually paused at that to give her a blank stare. "People are going to die tonight if the Joker has his way. I won't let that happen; I refuse to let that happen. Now get out of my way, Zatanna."

"Who said I didn't want you to go stop this?" she shot back heatedly. "This guy has slipped by you twice. You need help; I can help. So let me help you, you stubborn mule!"

"Do you know how to defuse a bomb?"

Zatanna blinked at that. "Well, no…"

"Then no, you are not coming out with me." Bruce reached around her again, plucking the other gauntlet off and putting it on.

"Oh what? You can?"

"Yes, I can." Then with a rather strong shove, he pushed her out of his way as he picked out his belt, wrapping it around his waist and clasping it at the buckle. "But you can bet there's more to this than just a truck carrying a bomb, one loaded with Joker Venom, might I add. There's going to be booby traps and most likely an armed guard somewhere. I'm not going to have you stick your neck out there just to get hurt."

"So you're asking me to let you do it instead? No!" the dark-haired woman screamed. "Every time you've gone up against this guy, you come back more and more messed up. He's getting to you in your head and you're letting him. You have to stop that, or the next time he'll do something so horrific, you won't be able to help anyone!" She grabbed his arm with both of her hands, squeezing tightly. "Please," she begged. "Let me do something to help. Anything."

Bruce finally stopped what he was doing and turned his head to look at her. He was impassive, but she could tell he was really considering her words. It was something. Zatanna even let her worry etch itself on her face to get him to realize just how serious she was.

Finally, he called out, "Computer: register new user. Username: Zatanna Zatara."

The computer screen flashed as it processed the command. "INPUT NEW USER VOICE REGISTRATION," its computerized voice responded.

"Say something," Bruce whispered to her.

"Like what?" Zatanna said bewildered, her voice louder than the dark-haired man's.

The computer began flashing again and then said, "NEW USER VOICE RECOGNITION IDENTIFICATION ACCEPTED."

Bruce snatched his mask and cape from the case and then tugged his arm out of Zatanna's grasp. However, he didn't leave her as he used his free hand to grab her arm and led her over to the computer. "I need you to access Gotham's Traffic Control Center. Hack in and access the traffic cameras. I need eyes on the streets to track down where the Joker's truck will be."

"And you think I can do this?" Zatanna asked dubiously.

"The computer will do all the work, you just need to put in the commands." Bruce looked at her then. "Can you do this for me?"

While the dark-haired woman wasn't much for technology outside of watching Youtube videos and checking Facebook, she nodded her head in acceptance of Bruce's task. What else could she really say after begging him to let her help out? At least she was doing something. "You can count on me."

"Good." Bruce then let go of her, walking over to a small file cabinet nearby and opened it. Reaching in, he then pulled out a headset with a mouthpiece extending from it. Coming back to her, he handed the headset to her. "Put this on. You can stay in contact with me while I'm out there."

"Alright. Anything else?"

"Just make sure you have the truck located by the time I reach the city limits. I don't want to have to run all over Gotham looking for it."

Zatanna nodded her head. "I'll find it."

Bruce nodded his head before he raised up his mask and slipped it on, his handsome features disappearing beneath the cowl. He then walked away from her, his cape swishing around him as he made his way to his car. The canopy slid open just before he got to it, allowing him to jump right in. The moment the canopy closed, the engine roared to life before it took off into the tunnel in front of it, disappearing into its depths.

"Good luck," Zatanna said before looking to the headset in her hands. Placing it on her head, she moved the mike in front of her mouth and turned to face the giant computer. "Okay, now let's see how this thing works."

* * *

><p>The countryside soon gave away to concrete and stone. It was times likes these Batman hated living so far away from the city limits. His response time was limited the moment something happened and he was in the cave. Short of inventing a teleportation device, there was no way he could shorten the trip.<p>

A sharp noise went off in the car, alerting him to an incoming call. Hitting a button on the center console, the vigilante said, "Tell me."

"_Alright, I've found the truck,_" Zatanna's voice filled the cab. "_And let me tell you it wasn't that easy. Do you have any idea what it's like having to go through a million different traffic camera to find one_—"

"Zana, where's the truck?" Batman interrupted her.

"_It's on Opal and 1st, north side of downtown, heading west. Just to let you know, the truck isn't alone. There's two armored trucks, one in front and one behind. They had some real dirty windshields so I couldn't see who's in them and how many._"

"That's fine. Just let me know if they change streets."

"_Will do. They're passing 2nd Street now, same direction._"

Batman didn't respond to that, pressing his foot harder on the accelerated. If he timed it just right, he'd met the 18-wheeler and its entourage in a couple minutes. As the buildings and streetlights blurred around him, traffic signals changing colors as he blew through the intersections, something occurred to him.

There wasn't anyone out on the streets. No pedestrians, no moving cars; it was like everyone had just abandoned the streets in their attempt to avoid being the Joker's next victims. Sure, there were parked cars lining the sides of the road, but they were just that, parked cars. The very sight angered the dark-clad vigilante. There was no reason why someone as insane as the Joker should have this kind of power.

As he shot through another intersection, a flash of red-and-blue lights caught his attention. The wailing of police sirens reached his ear a second later and didn't let up. Tilting his head to his left, he saw the flashing lights following him. It was the same to his right. Seriously, there was a bomb threat in the city and the cops wanted to pull _him_ over?

"_Uhh, Bruce? You do realize you have some cops on your tail._"

"I noticed," Batman responded dryly.

"_I hope so, cause you've got three of them on you. One behind you, another one behind you and to the left, and the other to the right. Huh, it's like watching a diamond moving down the street._"

"Hold on a second," Batman said as he let go of the wheel. Hitting a button on his gauntlet, he activated the earpiece in his cowl so Zatanna could keep talking to him. Deactivating the transmission from the car, he then typed a couple of buttons on the center console to bring up the police band. This way he didn't have both the radio and Zatanna fighting over the use of the car's speakers.

"—_patch, this is Unit 71. No sign of the Joker's bomb, over._"

"_Roger, Unit 71. Keeping looking._"

"_Hey, Dispatch, this is Unit 29. Me, Ramsey, and Davis spotted the Batmobile hauling ass down 15th. We're following 'em, over._"

There was a brief moment of silence before dispatch ordered, "_Unit 29, you stay on his ass, you hear me? If there's anyone that knows where that bomb is, it'll be him. Stay on him and give us frequent updates, got it? Over._"

Batman raised an eyebrow at that. Batmobile? Was that what the GCPD was calling his car?

"_Smart guy,_" Zatanna remarked in his ear. "_You should tell that commissioner friend of yours to give that guy a promotion._"

"Noted," he deadpanned. "Where's the truck?"

"_They just passed 10th street, still on Opal. So, do you have a plan for this? Cause now would be a good time to have one._"

"We'll be finding out soon, won't we?"

There was a short pause, then, "_Finding out? Bruce! This is not the time to be making stuff up!_"

Batman ignored her reprimand and her following ones. Instead, he increased his speed, the squad cars keeping up with him as their red-and-blue lights never dimmed and their sirens stayed just as loud. Pushing a button on his console, the front headlights pushed out before sliding to a side, the barrels of his cannons extending out. These cops were going to be in for a show, that was for sure.

It was just as they flew through another intersection that he saw it. Two intersections down, a black suburban appeared in sight. It had purple and green graffiti on it, much like the ones shown on the Joker's 18-wheeler in his video. They were armored like Zatanna said, though the car door windows and the windshield were left uncovered.

It wasn't driving all that fast, instead moving at a steady pace. Just as it reached the other side of the intersection, the cab of the 18-wheeler pulled into view. There was the truck and subsequently the bomb. Batman flipped the caps at the ends of his steering wheel up, revealing the red firing buttons on top. His thumbs rested on them as his car raced towards the truck.

Yet he didn't fire. He held steady as he closed the distance, the 18-wheeler pulling further into sight. Flying through another intersection, there was only a city block's stretch of road between him and the bomb, which was disappearing fairly quickly. The front of the trailer moved on by, soon followed by its middle.

And then Batman pressed the red buttons. Just above the back wheels of the truck's trailer, a giant fireball erupted as the twin blasts of his cannons collided with the paneling. The force of the explosion shoved the trailer off its wheels and putting its weight on the tires on the opposite side, a low groaning sound being made as the rest of the truck protested the sudden turn of events. Soon, the trailer's front tires raised off the ground, putting the full weight of the tires on one side, the truck's cab following suit a second later.

That proved too much as the 18-wheeler tipped over, slamming onto its side with a loud _BANG!_ Metal screeching across pavement filled the streets as the truck slid across the ground, eventually coming to a stop.

Yet, it wasn't over yet. The second armored suburban pulled into a view then. Pressing the pedal to the floor, Batman shot across the remaining distance between him and that car in an instant.

As it turned out, the vigilante got there a moment early. The front of his "Batmobile" slammed into the front of the suburban along its front axle, ripping through its metal frame and sending parts of the engine flying out into the air. Clearing the car, Batman shot through the intersection, leaving the motor-less suburban spinning around in the middle of the street, where the leftmost police car ran right into it, causing a wreck upon a wreck. The squad car's front was smashed, but it stopped the spinning suburban.

The other two squad cars made the turn at the intersection, chasing after the other car. Hitting the breaks, Batman spun the wheel around, causing his black car to spin around until he was facing the intersection, his vehicle coming to a complete stop. Before he hit the accelerator again, he saw two cops jump out of their car, each holding a shotgun and aiming it at the ruined suburban. One policeman went right up to the front passenger door and pulled it open, reaching in as he yanked out one of Joker's masked goons. Seeing the other cop racing around the other side to do the same, Batman felt that they had everything under control.

Engine rumbling, Batman drove back to the intersection before taking the turn and driving up to the fallen 18-wheeler. It was then that he heard Zatanna speak up again.

"_Alright, I'll admit it. That was pretty cool._"

The vigilante snorted in response, just as he stopped his car in front of the side-lying truck. Throwing the gear shift into park, the canopy slid open and Batman shot out of his seat. Nearly running on top of his car, he used it to leap onto the side of the 18-wheeler, landing on it with his feet and then casually walked over to the side door. Though the crash had to be jarring, considering the 18-wheeler didn't explode was a good sign the bomb inside hadn't detonated. If it had, the new hole in its side would have been gushing out with the green gas. All he could see there was rising black smoke as flames burned the trailer's paneling.

It was as he kneel down next to the doors handle that he heard the dark-haired woman speak again. "_Uhh, Bruce? I think we have a problem_."

Batman frowned. "What is it?"

"_I'm picking up at least two more trucks._"

The vigilante felt his blood freeze in his veins. Immediately, he grabbed the side-door handle and pulled on it as hard as he could, the door sliding open. The sight that greeted him was not what he wanted to see.

There was nothing. No bomb, no crates. The trailer was empty.

Which meant there were now two other 18-wheelers carrying a possible dirty payload.

"Where are the other trucks," he barked into his cowl's receiver.

"_I've got one clear across town from you, at Slaughter and 28th. There's another one closer, but it's off to the east at Walnut Grove and Jackson Street._" There was a pause. "_I don't know if you can make it to both of them._"

And without an actual deadline, there was no way of knowing when the bombs could go off. "Goddamn it," he swore as he spun around on his heels and dove off the ruined trailer, landing on top of his car's canopy. Spinning around again, he dropped onto his car seat and moved down until he was seated in the care, the canopy sliding closed.

"_Serious, we need a plan right now_," Zatanna said in his ear. "_It's one thing to go blowing up trucks in the middle of the street, but you can't exactly afford to do that right now._"

"I know." The dark-clad man scowled at his windshield. They were running out of options with every passing second. Anymore and there wouldn't be any time left. That left only one choice for them. With a sigh, he replied, "I think we need to call in some back-up."


	14. Hope You Had A Blast

A ringtone filled the hospital room, causing Gordon to frown. Its loud, shrill sound had interrupted what had been a lovely doze he had found himself in, something he rarely had an opportunity to enjoy. Had the city not been under an ominous threat, he might have even snoozed.

"Is that your phone?" Barbara asked from her spot on the couch, just as bewildered as the commissioner felt.

"I think so," Gordon answered dumbly. "Mind answering it for me?"

His daughter rolled her eyes as she got up from the couch. "Okay, where is it?"

"Why are you asking me? I only woke up in here. I have no clue where the hospital people put my stuff."

The redhead just turned away from him, hiding her annoyance as she began to walk through the room, aiming for a cabinet. "It sounds like it's coming from here," she said as she opened up the cabinet doors. Lo and behold, there was a set of car keys, loose change, a wallet, and a cell phone. Gordon was a little upset to not see his clothes in there and faintly wondered what the hospital staff did with them. That'd be his first question when a nurse came in here.

Picking up the phone, Barbara answered it as she raised it to her ear. "Commissioner Gordon's phone," she answered chipperly, giving an amused grin to her father. However, that grin quickly vanished when the caller spoke to her.

Gordon got a bad feeling the moment he saw Barbara's eyes narrow. Something told him nothing good would be coming from this. "Just a moment," his daughter said steely before giving the older man a hard look. "A woman's calling for you," she told him blandly, but the commissioner wasn't fooled. He could tell Barbara was not happy about that. "And she has a rather...sultry voice…"

Sultry? That threw Gordon for a loop. He didn't know any women with a voice like that. Sure, he'd been hanging with Sarah Essen quite a bit, but no way would he mistake her voice for what Barbara claimed it to be.

"Tell me, _Dad_, why is a woman with a voice like that calling you? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Before Gordon could attempt to stumble his way to an acceptable excuse—lord knew what was going through his daughter's head and he had an idea that it involved certain ladies of the night—Barbara suddenly snapped her head up, her eyes widening before they narrowed right back into a glare.

"Yes, this is the commissioner's phone," she snapped at the caller. There was a brief pause before she said, "What could possibly be so important that you have to talk with him." Another pause. "Uh uh, not until you give me a good enough reason and believe me, I will hang up on you."

Alright, this was getting to be a bit childish. No wonder he hadn't told her about him and Essen. "Barbara, give me the phone," he ordered.

She snapped her head to look at him in disbelief before she once more began to glare at him. Still, she did as told as she marched to him and stuck the phone towards his face. Taking it, Gordon gave his daughter a look that said they'd be talking about her manners very soon before he said into the receiver, "This is Gordon."

"_Thank God,_" a woman's voice responded. Huh, that was a rather sexy voice. No wonder Barbara was suspicious. Though, it did sound familiar. "_You're not an easy man to get a hold of, you know?_"

Shaking off his previous thoughts, Gordon replied, "You wanted to talk to me, right? What is this about?"

"_You and I have a mutual friend and_—"

"We do?"

"_Yeah, he's tall, dark, and has a thing for bats, if you catch my drift._"

The commissioner perked his head up. "I believe I do, but I've never heard about you. Who are you?"

"_Like I said, I'm a friend of his and I'm helping him out. That's not important though, so listen up. I'm sure you saw the Joker's broadcast earlier tonight._"

"I did." For some reason, Gordon got an uneasy feeling where this was going.

"_Well, we've got a problem. Batman managed to stop the truck the Joker sent out into the streets. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a dud. There's two more trucks in the streets and Batman's only able to get to one of them_."

And the older man's stomach dropped. "So what do you want me to do?"

"_To get the other truck. Look, I wouldn't be asking this if he could get to both of them, but he'd have to go across town twice just to get to both of them. That isn't including the fact we have a running timer with no clue as to how much time is left._"

Gordon nodded his head. "I understand. Give me the address of the bombs."

* * *

><p>The phone on Bullock's desk began ringing. Again. Seriously, everyone and their grandma knew there was a freaking bomb running around the streets. Calling the police demanding to know what was going down wasn't helping anything.<p>

Bullock glared at the phone, daring it to keep ringing, which of course it did. Reaching out, he grabbed the receiver and shoved it to his face. "What do ya want?" he demanded.

"_Bullock, this is Gordon._"

The sergeant's head jerked up. "Com'mish? What'cha doing callin' at a time like this? I thought you were still sleeping."

Gordon ignored his quip. "_Listen, Harvey, there's not much time. The Joker's sent out two bombs into the city_—"

"_Two?!_" Bullock shouted as he shot out of his chair, knocking it over. "How? Where did you hear about this?"

There was a sigh on the other end and the large man knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "_A mutual friend._"

"Oh, it's a friend now, huh? Geez, I thought you learned last year that that's not a friend you should have."

"_That doesn't matter right now. There are two more trucks out there. _He's _going after one of them and it's up to us to get the other._"

Okay, he could deal with that, at least this time. "Where is it?"

"_Walnut Grove and Hope, heading north. I need you to_—"

"Don't worry, Com'mish, we're on it," Bullock interrupted him. "You can count on us."

* * *

><p>"Gordon knows," Zatanna said into the mike as she began looking at the mega-sized computer screen. It was divided into countless square boxes, each showing a scene of Gotham's many intersections—the fruits of hacking into the Traffic Control Center. Because of the lack of traffic—and who could be responsible for that?—it made tracking specific cars and trucks easier than it would normally have been. And with the help of whatever computing software Bruce had installed, she was able to bring up specific traffic cams to help focus on where Bruce's dark car was, along with the Joker's 18-wheelers.<p>

"_Let me know what the police are doing when you know it,_" Bruce responded from her headphones. His voice was that deep, gravely one and she couldn't help shivering when she heard it—in a good kind of way.

"Roger. By the way, there was a woman in his room. She didn't seem to like me very much."

"_His daughter_," she was informed. "_Must be protective of her father, not that anyone could blame her._"

"I don't think that was the reason for her moodiness," Zatanna mused. "It honestly sounded as if she thought I was calling the commissioner up for a wild night or something."

There was a pause on the line. "_I wonder where she could have gotten that impression._"

The dark-haired woman scowled. She could hear the dark-clad man's mirth seeping through the headphones. "How am I supposed to know that? Do I look like a lady of the night?"

An instant later, she added, "Don't answer that if you know what's good for you."

"_Wouldn't dream of it._"

"Why don't you go blow up that other truck now? Before it does it on its own. It's like I'm the only one doing any work here," Zatanna complained. Huffing, she leaned back into the very comfortable chair Bruce used and glared at the camera feeds in front of her. It was because of that she noticed something going on in a couple of the small screens. "What the?"

"_What is it?_"

"Hold on a second." Looking at the small box, she found the camera number she was searching for. "Computer: enlarge camera 18." The image box grew then, showing her several people moving along the sidewalk and taking places in between parked cars. They had weapons on them, which worried Zatanna, but she also noticed a distinct lack of clown masks. In fact, some of them looked like cops.

"I think your police friends got your message."

* * *

><p>"C'mon ya bums! Show some hussle!" Bullock shouted as he rushed down the sidewalk.<p>

After hanging up on Gordon, the police sergeant had grabbed every able body he could in the precinct and had them hurry out to a spot on Walnut Grove. It was a good thing that street was close by, otherwise who knew where that truck could've turned.

Their spot was just before an intersection, a place with a lot of windows and parked cars. Right now police officers were taking cover between the cars and inside the buildings, getting out of sight of the approaching Joker truck. Bullock chose to hide behind a post office mailbox because it was one of the few things that could hide his bulk and provided him with cover behind the truck of a car. There were other officers across the street taking similar positions. To put a cherry on top of it all, he could barely make out silhouettes of men and women in the windows. There were even a few people poking their heads from the rooftops. Nothing was getting past them, not without a hundred bullet holes in it.

"Alright people, listen up!" he called out. "That truck's gonna be here any minute so keep quiet! When it gets here, I don't care how you take it down. Shoot the tires, the driver, anything that stops it. We've got to show these two-bit wackos that we ain't taking anymore of their shit.

"When it gets here, wait for it to get to reach this mailbox. I want as many guns taking it down as possible."

Bullock didn't get an answer to his finely-crafted speech, but then again he had told them to keep their traps shut. Goes to show that these schmoes could follow orders when needed. And since the mailbox was roughly in the middle of their ambush point, it gave all of them a chance to put a shot into the truck or it's driver.

It also turned out that their semi was in sight too. This was a bit of a hilly road and they were positioned at the bottom. Every cop did their best to be up against the car that afforded them the best cover. If those clowns even suspected they were out here, they could make a turn on one of these streets and they'd have to go on a long chase then.

However, it turned out the 18-wheeler wasn't alone. There were two armored trucks, one in front and the other behind, driving with it. It made Bullock scowl, but it wasn't as if that would stop what was about to happen. Time seemed to slow down as the caravan took its sweet time getting to the intersection.

And then the first armored truck passed by. Bullock flicked down the hammer of his handgun, holding up by his face. He mentally counted to three before he extended his both of his arms out, one grasping the gun handle and the other clasping the butt as he pointed the weapon straight ahead, using the car trunk to steady his arms.

The moment the front wheels of the 18-wheeler pulled into his view, Bullock opened fire, quickly followed the the rest of the police force. The loud roar of gunfire was deafening from the cops between the cars, the ones standing in the windows, and even the few on the roofs of the buildings. Bullets pelted all three trucks, sparks exploding out into the street. It was a shooting gallery that Bullock hoped would lead to some casualties.

And then there was the whooshing sound of air blowing out as one of the semi's tires went flat. Someone had hit their mark, which only fueled the barrage of flying lead more.

Gun emptied, Bullock immediately hit the clasp to remove the magazine. "Take it down!" he shouted as he pulled out another clip and shoved it into the gun. "Take it down! Take it down!"

By the time he was firing again, a couple more of the 18-wheeler's tires were blown out, causing the truck to begin swerving as the driver tried to get control of it. Unfortunately for him, he didn't as the truck flew through the intersection and drove right into the corner of a building head on. The force of the crash caused the back of the trailer to jump up into the air before landed roughly back on the ground.

The armored trucks didn't fair much better. The one in the back was the next one Bullock saw as it pulled into the gunfire. As sparks erupted all over its armored plating, the windshield exploded into shards of glass. Immediately, the truck swerved and crashed head-first into a nearby parked car.

The front truck suffered a similar fate. Though Bullock hadn't seen what happened to it, considering its side was currently leaning up against the traffic light, the driver lost control and went into a spin, eventually stopping against the metal pole.

Immediately, Bullock stood up and began shouting out orders. "I want every scumbag in these trucks eating pavement, ladies!" Instantly, the officers were up and flying all over the place. Car doors were opened and men in clown masks were yanked out. The sergeant didn't pay any mind to whether they were alive or dead.

Instead he marched over to the 18-wheeler, were several police officers were gathered. A couple were at the cab, ripping the doors open to pull out the driver and anyone else that was riding with him. The rest were trying to get the trailer doors open. By the time Bullock reached it, the back doors were wrenched open with a loud squeal.

"Somebody get some W40," he muttered as he reached the trailer. Since he was tall enough to see into the trailer without getting into it, he looked into the cavernous hull and stopped in his tracks.

"What's this?" he demanded before he shoved his way through the crowd of cops. Closer, he stared into an empty trailer, not even seeing any dust or dirt anywhere inside. "Where's that freakin' bomb?!"

* * *

><p>"<em>You almost to that truck?<em>"

"A few blocks," Batman answered.

"_Good. The police just took down theirs. I don't have that great of an angle on it, but the way one of the cops is throwing a hissy fit, I think that one's also a dud._"

"Which means this one should have the real bomb," the vigilante said before adding, "unless the Joker hasn't sent it out yet."

There was a pause before Zatanna replied, "_Please don't jinx us now. I don't think I can handle staring at all these traffic cameras all night._"

"If you have to, get Alfred. He can take over."

"_Hey, I said I was going to help and I am. I'll keep an eye out for anymore 18-wheelers while you take out this last one._"

"How far away is it from my location?"

Zatanna was quiet for a moment before she said, "_You're a couple blocks away from the road their on. Looks like they're five, six blocks further away coming in your direction from the west._"

Batman didn't respond to that as he flew through an intersection. The next one would be his turn and he was going to be ready for it. As he approached the intersection, he pushed a couple buttons on the center console. He heard a faint noise behind him, the only indication that the back bumper was extending out from the car and then raising up. There'd be a compartment for anyone to see if they had been watching.

Another button activated a small screen in the dash, a camera that showed him a rear view behind the car. Small, pieces of jagged metal began to fall out of the compartment, just as he reached the intersection, the raining pieces of metal flashing on the screen. He drove the car about halfway in and then jerked the wheel to his left, causing the back to fishtail around and sending several caltrops flying through the air until they hit the pavement, clattering on it until they came to a stop. Foot pressing down on the brake, the car came to an abrupt stop, staring down the street in the far lane.

There it was, the last truck. It was just as far as Zatanna told him, heading in his direction in the middle lane. Batman adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, revving the engine of his thusly named Batmobile. All the while, the back bumper lowered down and took its previous place on the car.

"_So, what's the plan?_" he heard Zatanna ask. When he didn't answer, she added, "_You do have a plan, right?_"

In answer, Batman hit the accelerator, the wheels spinning in place for a moment, smoke kicking up from the burning rubber. The moment when the tires grabbed onto the asphalt, the Batmobile shot forward, racing down the street, crossing into the middle lane as he did so. Buildings blurred around him as the distance between him and Joker's caravan disappeared.

"_Uhh, Bruce? What are you doing?_"

He flew through an intersection, quickly approaching the next one.

"_Are you playing chicken with him?! Is that your plan?!_"

If Zatanna said anything else after that, Batman was oblivious to it. His focus was solely on the armored suburban in front of him and they were closing in on him. There were three more blocks between them and those were about to vanish in mere seconds.

The moment he reached the next intersection, he acted. Spinning the steering wheel, he heard his tires screech on the pavement as the back fishtailed. Grabbing the gear shift, he shifted it into the reverse and spun the wheel the other way. In response, the car slid around until he had the back facing the caravan. Punching the accelerator, the engine roared as he shot down the street in reverse.

Jerking his head, Batman looked to the dashboard screen. The suburban was still heading towards him, just as he hoped. The thugs in there had to be wracking their minds trying to figure out what he was doing. Unfortunately for them, it'd be too late before they realized he had every intent on ramming them.

They each passed their next intersections, leaving only a short stretch of road between them, thirty yards maximum. Now twenty. Ten.

It was then that the driver realized just what was happening and jerked his wheel, the suburban turning to the right. Turning his own wheel, Batman forced the collision as the back of the Batmobile rammed into the driver's car door. The force of the collision sent echoed loudly in the streets, tremors racing throughout the car as Batman felt his body press into his car seat. The tires of the suburban squealed shrilly as they were scraped sideways on the asphalt.

And then the 18-wheeler plowed through them, its grill smashing into the back passenger side of the armored truck. Another loud crashing sound went off as the suburban spun out of the semi's path. The spin pushed the Batmobile around as well, the vigilante pulling his wheel to the right as he shifted the gear shift into drive. The moment the front of his car swung to face the last armored suburban, he slammed his foot down on the accelerate and blasted forward.

The front of the black car rammed into the side of the armored truck, another loud crash echoing through the night. He forced the suburban to skid across the road until it collided with a street lamp, stopping both vehicles was a loud _BANG!_ Even though he had braced for the impact, Batman still felt his body jostled around in the cab, though thankfully he didn't slam his chest against his steering wheel.

Letting out a sigh, he shifted into reverse and backed away from the ruined suburban, its entire side cratered in and the windows shattered. He could make out four shapes through the openings, each of an unmoving man. Gently turning the steering wheel, he soon faced the retreating form of the 18-wheeler as it made its way down the street.

And then it jerked as loud _bangs!_ were made. Looked like the truck ran into the caltrops he had spread when he turned onto this street. The driver tried to get control of the semi, weaving side to side until the trailer began to jackknife on him. The trailer swung to a side until it was completely perpendicular with the street, forcing the cab to align with it.

That was too much for the truck to handle, causing it to tip over. However, it didn't simple fall over; it had too much momentum for that. Instead, it began rolling side to roof to side and bottom over and over. It did it once, twice, three times, and finally came to a stop on its side, lying in the middle of the street like a beached whale.

"_Okay, now you're just showing off,_" Zatanna groused.

Hitting the gas pedal, Batman drove towards the fallen 18-wheeler, avoiding his own caltrops as he mounted the curb to the left and crossed over the crosswalk until he reached the next curb. Bumpily, he got back onto the street and closed the distance between the truck.

He came to a stop a short distance from it, opening the canopy and practically launching himself out of his car. The vigilante strode the remaining distance and hauled himself on top of the side-lying semi. Finding the side door, he grabbed its handle and pulled it opened, looking inside an instant later.

There it was, Joker's bomb. It was lying on the side of the trailer haphazardly. It was a miracle that its supply of Joker Venom hadn't been unleashed from the truck's crash. However, that comforting thought was forced from his mind when he saw a digital timer counting down, his stomach dropping at the sight.

0:08...0:07…

His hand shot to the back of his belt, pulling out his grapple—0:06.

Aiming it at the building to his right, he fired the grapple—0:05—hearing it attach to an anchor point and the cable going taut—0:04.

"_Get out of there!_" he heard Zatanna shout into his ear as he hit the retraction button—0:03—his body flying off the trailer and through the air—0:02...0:01.

He reached the top of the building, his feet touching down on the ledge when he heard the explosion. A loud _BOOM! _rang out as the vigilante dived onto the building's roof. Batman rolled over his shoulders until he was back on his feet, turning his head around in time to see a large puff of white smoke launching up into the air, streamers and pieces of colored paper flying all over the place.

_What the?_ Frowning, Batman cautiously stalked to the building's edge and looked over, finding a distinct lack of Joker Venom and the sky raining down confetti. There was even a large banner drifting down to the ground, crudely painted letters on it proclaiming, "_HA! HA! HOPE YOU HAD A BLAST! HA! HA!_"

That was when a sickening feeling welled up inside the dark-clad man, the sense that he had just been played overwhelming him. Bile bitterly attacked his taste buds, giving Batman the urge to puke, but he fought that back, gnashing his teeth instead. Hands balling into tight fists, the vigilante seethed internally.

It had been a long time since he felt this sort of rage and he was going to be burning with it.

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: I've got no idea what you said lol, so off to Google Translate! Hmm, well, since I have this translate thing up, let's see if I can work it right. Hope this makes sense! Obrigado. Espero que o plano de Bruce valeu a pena esperar. Eu sei que era para mim.<p> 


	15. A Promise

The street was covered in confetti and streamers, the result of the Joker's fake bomb. All the carnage that had been wrought had been unnecessary, even heavy-handed. The tension and fear the bomb threat had produced drained out only to be replaced by a very unsatisfied, simmering anger. Although the mad clown wasn't anywhere in sight, you could almost hear his maniacal laughter, a soft, dull irritant just buzzing in the ear.

All around, policemen and women cleaned up the sight of the exploded dud. The clown-masked thugs were hauled out of the armored suburbans and 18-wheeler and were either placed in the back of police cruisers, or were shipped to the nearest hospital via ambulance. There was no sympathy for any of the Joker's goons though, if one only looked at the officers' faces.

Yet, that wasn't the strangest sight of the night. Standing at the corner of a nearby intersection was the Batman and Sergeant Bullock, the first enshrouded by his cape and the other with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy blue trench coat, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth as he bit down on it.

Bullock had never been quiet about his disdain for the vigilante. Batman knew the large man's feelings towards his nightly rounds, but for once the police sergeant was silent. Instead he seemed to be glaring at the sight of the wrecked suburbans and the overturned semi, as if they were at fault for tonight's mad chase. While they may have been the physical aspect, those trucks never would've been out had their crazed owner not unleashed them out into the streets.

"I don't know which I hate more," Bullock suddenly spoke up. "The fact that all of this was just some sick joke, or all the effort we wasted tonight on some wild goose chase. Between you and us, we caused a lot of property damage that'll piss off City Hall, and for what? Something a janitor could clean up in an hour."

Bullock reached up to his mouth, pulling the soggy toothpick from his mouth and flicked it down to the street. "But I guess we couldn't chance it, could we? If that clown was really driving out who knows how much of that gas of his, we'd have another City Hall outbreak again."

"You're right," Batman replied. "We couldn't."

Exaggeratedly, Bullock threw a hand out, it flopping around in front of him as he exclaimed, "And what was the meaning of this anyways? Why even bother sending out trucks without an actual bomb in them?"

"There is no reason," he agreed, and then added, "at least one that we could accept. He wanted to show us that we'd jump at a shadow, no matter what it is he does. He's the puppet master and we're his puppets, all of us dancing to his every whim."

"This sucks." The sergeant dropped his hand, once more shoving it into his pocket. He was quiet for a moment before he said, "At least the only people hurt tonight were his lackeys. No civilians or cops got caught up in the crossfire."

That didn't make Batman feel any better. In fact, it only fueled the anger he felt as he continued staring at the wreckage. He had hurt people for no reason other than his own concern, even if they were common criminals. At most, all they had done was break some traffic laws by running red lights—none of which justified firing cannons and crashing trucks. It was one thing to come across a man trying to rob people, it was another to see one minding his own business.

"I still don't like ya," Bullock continued. "If it were up to me, you'd be locked up with the rest of this wackos and punks, but tonight I'll give ya a pass. You're probably beatin' yourself up more than I ever could."

The vigilante saw the large man turn his head to look at him. "Just don't let this get to your head, capiche? The last thing I need is for you to think I'm condoning your ass."

He gave the sergeant a nod in acknowledgement, but continued to keep quiet. When Bullock looked back to the crime scene, Batman felt he had enough and turned around, walking away without making a sound. He faintly heard Bullock begin to say, "We'll put all these losers in the holding cells," continuing whatever spiel he felt inclined to say. The vigilante didn't care to hear it.

Turning a corner, he entered an alleyway, marching towards the other end. He heard a loud exclamation a moment later—sounded like Bullock, so the sergeant must've realized the dark-clad man had left him standing there. This wasn't going to improve the man's opinion of the vigilante, but then he wasn't doing this for popularity points.

The further down the alleyway he walked, the more his rage grew. Just thinking about how the Joker was messing with them, with him, boiled inside Batman, feeding his anger even more. He could practically picture that pale face with his twisted smile, laughing and laughing until he could laugh no more.

And that made Batman only want to hit something hard.

* * *

><p>If only she had had her camera on her. First the commissioner and now his lackey side by side with Batman. What were the chances of that happening?<p>

Considering what Vicki knew about Bullock, she would've put the odds at snowball in hell before something like this happening. The guy had been on record as saying the Batman was a menace and now they were standing side by side. This was...this was…

Oh the hell with it, where was her phone? It had a camera app on it, right? The quality wouldn't be all that good as her preferred camera, but it would at least be worth some money. Ripping open her purse, the redhead rummaged around for her phone, finally finding it after an unforgivable five seconds. Whiping it out, she activated it and opened the camera app, pointing it right at Bullock and the Batman.

Unfortunately, that was when she realized that Batman was long gone and Bullock looked peeved at being dissed. _Goddamn it no! No, no, no!_ Her photo! It was gone! Vicki knew she had taken too long finding her phone and her opportunity had set sail, never to return again.

Grounding her teeth together, Vicki fought to regain her composure. It was alright, she could deal with this. She just had to talk with Bullock seeing as he was all alone now. Perhaps flash him some of her feminine wiles to get him to open up. The very thought nauseated her, but she was starting to get desperate.

With the media attention on the Joker's every move, Harry was getting more and more on her back to come up with something, anything to give the Star a leg up on the competition. The pickings were getting smaller and smaller with every passing day though, and now she was at the point she was willing to flirt with a disgusting pig like Bullock. God, if she didn't hate Lane's guts so much, she would've said she missed her at the moment.

Straightening out her posture, the redhead sauntered over to the police sergeant. Might as well get this over with before she starting puking in her mouth. "Good evening, Sergeant. Mind sparing a few words?"

Bullock whipped his head towards her, his eyes narrowing. "The hell do you want now, Lady?"

Vicki ignored the blatant disregard of manners and instead went straight to the point. This guy liked direct women, right? "Well, considering a bomb went off in Gotham, I'd like to know everything that went on."

"I ain't got anything to say to ya, now skedaddle before I get angry."

_Skedaddle? Really? Who even used that anymore?_ Deciding to...improve her chances, the redhead pulled her shoulders back, thrusting her bosom out to offer the sergeant a look at her assets. That had the desired reaction as Bullock dropped his eyes to ogle her. "We don't need to be short with each other," she said soothingly. "I know a lot has happened tonight and you brave police officers deserve to let everyone know how well you've served the community."

Bullock didn't even bother looking her in the eyes. "Look, Lady, I just like to look."

_Oh my god! You pig!_ Vicki felt her face flush with rage, but she bit it down. Looks like she needed a different tact. "Well in that case, I guess the Batman was the one to handle things around here and you're just here for clean up."

The sergeant jerked his head up, his anger twisting his face. "Hey, we took out our own truck, thank you very much, and without the Bat. Hell, he asked _us_ for help, not the other way around! Get your facts straight before you bother talking with me, Lady."

Oh? Batman asked the police for help? Now that was juicy. That meant the Bat had some connection with the GCPD, just like Gordon's IA investigation hinted at. This was worth investigating. Holding her hands up, the redhead attempted to placate Bullock as she backed away. The sooner she got out of here, the sooner she could get to work on this story. She had a couple strings she could pull at the precinct for further information.

* * *

><p>"At ease, boys," Essen said as she approached the four-man guard. The officers glanced at her, a couple nodding their heads in greeting while one sent her a wide smile and the last just flat out ignored her. None of them tried to stop her as she went right up to Jim's hospital room door and opened it.<p>

"How many times do I have to tell you, Barbara, I want to watch Monday Night!"

"And how many times do I have to tell you, Dad, Game of Thrones is on. You can watch your dumb football game on Sports Center later."

So this was what quality time was like in the Gordon household. Jim looked crossed with his daughter, his eyes narrowed as he glared at her. The red-haired girl returned the look with an impassively cool stare. Apparently she was used to such power struggles and knew just how to win them. It sort of helped that she had the television remote in her hand.

Their staredown was interrupted though, when they noticed the blonde police lieutenant standing in the doorway. Barbara stared at her blankly, seemingly unimpressed by her entrance. Jim, on the other hand, was much more vocal.

"Do you see what I have to put up with?" he complained to Essen. "Here I am, stuck in this god-awful hospital bed and she won't give me the luxury of watching a game."

"That's because you get excited watching the game, Dad," his daughter reminded him. "And the doctors say you shouldn't do anything to raise your blood pressure."

"And you think watching a show where people get slaughtered by swords and arrows is a better alternative?"

"Yes, because I've never seen you shouting at Jamie to cut Eddard's head off."

"That's cause Eddard's been dead since Season 1."

Barbara smirked in satisfaction. "You've just proved my point, Dad."

"I think she's got you there, Commissioner," Essen added.

Jim gave her a dirty look. "Is there something you want, Lieutenant?" he snapped irritably.

"Police business," she said with a quick glance to the red-haired girl.

"Is this about the Joker's bomb threat?" Barbara asked, sounding very interested in the new topic.

Essen jerked her head to the girl and looked at her strangely. She had been trying to keep a lid on that, but with the girl blurting it out like that it set the lieutenant on edge. It wasn't often she spoke of police matters in front of civilians.

"Close the door," Jim ordered lowly, to which Essen obeyed, closing the room door with an audible click. "Tell me what happened."

"We stopped them," she reported, then added, "all of them. Bullock took all of the GCPD and set an ambush on Walnut. They managed to shoot the tires out of the truck and the armored trucks following it. The...Batman...got to the other and took it out of commission."

"And the bomb?"

When Essen glanced to Barbara, Jim shifted in his bed, drawing her attention back to the older man. "It's alright," he assured her. "Anything you can say to me, you can say to Barbara. She won't repeat it."

At this, he directed a look at his daughter that visibly said she would obey him in this. The redhead shrinked in on herself, a show of submission and one that Essen saw as very genuine. With a sigh, the lieutenant said, "Turned out two of the trucks were decoys. The one the Batman stopped on Slaughter had the bomb and it went off."

Barbara gasped as Jim paled. "Casualties?" he asked shakily.

"Fortunately, none. Turned out the bomb was a fake. Instead of blowing out that gas, it sprayed the area with confetti and streamers."

The commissioner frowned. "Confetti?"

"Yeah. If you recall, a bunch of his men robbed a couple party supply stores a couple weeks ago. Turns out that's what he used it all for." She then grimaced. "There was also this big banner in it. Said 'Hope you had a blast'."

Jim seemed to slump in his bed. "He played us," he said in disbelief. "He just wound us up and let us go running around like a bunch of chickens with our heads cut off."

Essen nodded her head in agreement. "That's what Bullock said the Batman said. Neither of them were happy about it."

Jim didn't seem to hear that as he zoned out. It was a couple moments before he spoke. "This Joker fellow had this all planned out. He robbed those stores while he was robbing the Jezebel Theater. I can only guess he did that to draw all of our attention to him while his men were hitting the stores. Then the Joker Venom at City Hall. He wanted as many people as he could get down there so he could gas them. Now this bomb that he loaded with confetti and claimed it was his gas; he knew we couldn't sit by without trying to stop him." He clenched his hands tightly into fists. "He wanted us to chase him around the city."

"It's looking a lot like that," Essen agreed gloomily. "Who knows what he has up his sleeve next."

"And knowing him, we won't get off easy with a fake bomb either."

"Why is he doing this?" Both police officers looked to Jim's daughter, who looked very small at the moment, her head tilted down as she stared at the floor. "What's the point in all of this?"

It hurt Essen to see Jim look helpless at his daughter's question. He wanted to comfort the girl the best he could, but there was simply nothing that could be said to help. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just don't know."

* * *

><p>The secret passage into Bruce's study opened and Zatanna stepped through the doorway. It was late and after everything that had happened tonight, she was feeling the first signs of exhaustion creeping up on her. It didn't hurt that she didn't normally keep such long hours either. It had to be sometime after midnight at the latest.<p>

The computer in the cave was shut down, or at least she hoped it was. Bruce could always turn it back on if he had to, whenever it was he'd get back. The dark-haired woman wasn't sure how long he normally stayed out as the Batman, but she assumed it was late.

The moment she entered the study, she was greeted by the sight of Alfred standing in the middle of the room, a silver platter in his hands with a tea set arranged on it. "Good morning, Ms. Zatara," he greeted her. "I've prepared a pot of tea for you and the master."

"Thank you, Alfred," she replied and walked into the room, the grandfather clock swinging back into place behind her. "I think I'll take my tea up here, thank you very much."

"As you wish." Alfred turned and set the tray down on a coffee table, picking up the teapot as Zatanna walked over to a nearby chair and plopped down in it. The older man tilted his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow at her antics, but said nothing as he poured her a cup. "Milk or lemon?" he eventually asked her once he finished pouring.

"I'll take it straight," Zatanna responded, reaching a hand out. She wasn't much of a tea drinker to begin with, so she figured the safe option was to go with neither. Alfred picked up the cup and saucer and handed it to her, the dark-haired woman's adjusting her fingers and palm to accept the china. Lowering it to her lap, she set the saucer down and picked up the tea cup, raising to her lips and taking a sip from it. The tea was hot, telling her it had been recently brewed.

"I assume tonight's excitement has been dealt with?" the butler eventually asked after a moment.

"Yeah," she answered tiredly. The hotness of the tea managed to wake her up a bit, though. "Turned out to be a run-around. The Joker sent Bruce and I running around for a dud all night."

"I suppose Master Bruce wasn't happy about that."

"You suppose right. I heard his talk with one of the cops afterwards. He sounded pissed."

It was then that Zatanna noticed Alfred was still standing, holding himself primly as he spoke to her. "You know, you can have a seat," she offered him. "Take a load off your feet and enjoy some tea."

"I thank you, Ms. Zatara," the butler replied as he accepted her invitation, taking a seat in the chair next to her. To her amusement, he still held himself stiffly, his back ramrod straight even as he prepared his own cup of tea. She supposed it was considered proper in his home country to hold oneself as the elderly man did.

"You know, it just occurred to me," she spoke as she raised her tea cup up, pausing to sip from it before continuing, "I don't know that much about you."

"I believe you're right," Alfred agreed with her.

"Mind telling me about yourself?"

"Most certainly. What do you wish to know?"

If Zatanna didn't know any better, Alfred was stonewalling her as politely as he could. He hadn't offered a single answer about himself, merely agreeing with her and allowing her to take the lead. The dark-haired woman was beginning to see where Bruce got all of his secrecy from.

"How long have you been working here?"

"Quite some time. I believe it was a few years before Master Bruce was born."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "So you've been caring for Bruce a long time."

"Indeed."

"What brought you out here?"

"My father was employed by the Waynes. It was upon his death that I crossed the pond and took his place."

"So you lived in England. What did you do over there?" She then gave him a look. "And tell me everything. Your short explanations are starting to get annoying."

Mirth twinkled in Alfred's eyes at the remark. "Very well. Originally I was part of Her Majesty's Royal Army, but was eventually recruited to serve in the Secret Service. I believed I served for the better part of two decades before I was released from service and allowed to do as I pleased. I joined a traveling theater troupe for a number of years before word reached me of my father's passing. It was then that I assumed the role of the Wayne Family Butler."

Zatanna was apt to whistle in appreciation of Alfred's life story, but she didn't feel the energy to do so. Watching as Alfred took a sip of his tea, she said, "It sounds as if you've lived a full life. What sort of things did you do for the Secret Service?"

"Of that, I'm afraid I cannot tell you." Though his tone sounded regretful, the butler's face was stiff with seriousness. "I've been sworn to secrecy and I take that oath very seriously."

"What about Bruce? Have you told him anything?"

"Again, no. There were some things I did during my service that I am not proud of." There was no regret in Alfred's words as he admitted this. In fact, he spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone, Zatanna wasn't sure if she should be shocked by the admission. "While the master is aware of my service record, he does not know what that entails, and I believe he wishes to keep it that way. As a matter of fact, so do I. Much of it would clash with his perceived duty to Gotham and having knowledge of my exploits would only serve as a distraction."

"But Bruce has to know right?" the dark-haired woman pressed. "I mean, he's not naive enough to think that you only did guard duty or something."

"Of course he knows, but in this case ignorance is bliss. He does not wish to know and I will not push my reality onto him."

Zatanna looked away from Alfred, her sight moving to the grandfather clock. "What do you think of this Batman stuff?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the clock face.

"Do you mean to ask my opinion of his donning a mask to become a vigilante?" the butler clarified.

"Yeah. I sort of get the feeling you're not all that enthused by it."

There was a sigh, which caused the dark-haired woman to return her attention to the older man. "I suppose that statement is accurate. I never thought the young master would grow up to be running across rooftops in the dead of night and beating criminals with his fists, yet here he is doing just that. In fact, I thought he was being quite foolish when he decided on this career path." At this, Zatanna snorted in amusement, which earned her a small grin from the butler. "But, it does seem to soothe the anger that burns within him. While I may not agree with his creation of an alter ego, I do support him in all of his endeavors, and I will continue to do so until the very end."

This was intriguing the dark-haired woman. She was leaning towards the older man, her tea all but forgotten as it was now balancing on the armrest of the chair. "You never tried to talk him out of it?"

"In the beginning, yes, but you know Master Bruce as well as I. Once he sets himself on a course of action, he will follow it through. Occasionally I try I play the Devil's Advocate to make sure he's aware of other possibilities, but mostly I do it to see just how confident he is in his choice. What he is doing is not something you do on a whim. It requires dedication and certainty and I try to provide that to him whenever I can."

"Bruce? Uncertain?" For some reason Zatanna couldn't fit that into her mind. She may have only just been reunited with the young man, but in all of their encounters he had always been determined and sure of himself. Seeing Alfred glancing at her from the corner of his eye as he finished off his own cup of tea, the dark-haired woman fell under the impression that he was analyzing her actions. "I don't think I've ever seen him that way," she admitted carefully.

"Admittedly, it is an uncommon occurrence," Alfred told her. "But he has questioned himself during his time as Batman. In a way, I am grateful for those moments. If he were so invested in this pursue, never asking himself these thought-provoking questions, I fear he'd become more consumed by it."

Consumed, huh? That was a pretty loaded word, yet Zatanna found herself agreeing with the sentiment. "Why does he do this to himself?" she eventually asked. "Why did he put that mask on?"

Alfred leaned back into his chair, his rigid posture deserting him as he seemed to sag into himself. His many years seemed to weigh in on him as he gazed at something on the other side of the room. "A promise," he said succinctly, yet resignedly.

"A promise?" she repeated softly, incredulously even. "This must be some special kind of promise for him to do all of this."

The butler shook his head at her comment. "No, it's just simply the way he is. No matter how he portrays himself to the public at large, he is a man that takes his word very seriously. He's always been that way as far as I can remember and he continues to demonstrate that belief consistently."

"So he'd keep his word if he promised anyone anything?" Zatanna questioned curiously.

"Most likely so. He doesn't make promises all that often, however, so the instances he does are quite limited. Even I don't know to whom and when he makes them. I'll hear of one from time to time, such as with your father, but—"

"My dad?" the dark-haired woman interrupted, her head perking up. "Since when?"

For a moment, Alfred looked as if he had said too much. His mouth had dropped slightly open and his eyes were wide. In an instant, however, that expression vanished in favor of his more stoic facade. "I cannot in good conscious speak of that with you, Ms. Zatara. He told me in confidence and it would be wrong of me to divulge such matters to you."

Zatanna frowned at that. How could this guy just drop something as juicy as this onto her lap and the next moment expect her not to pry into it? "So you won't tell me any more?" she ventured, to which he nodded his head. "What if I ask just a question about it, just one? You don't have to say a word, but you can at least let me know I'm going in the right direction."

Alfred neither nodded or shook his head at this. It seemed he was not committing to her proposal, but at least he wasn't flat out rejecting it either. So what to ask? There were only so many things she could imagine her father and Bruce talking about: the troupe, escape artistry lessons, illusionist tricks...succession as troupe leader…

Okay, that last one was a bit of a stretch, but could you blame her for wishful thinking? Yet none of the other possibilities seemed to fit, at least when it came to her father. He wouldn't ask a favor from Bruce that concerned any of those. Those were all trivial matters save who would run the Zatara Troupe once he was gone, but that had gone over smoothly as he had left it to her to manage. It would have to be something very special to him to ask some unknown teenager for help.

And there was only one thing Zatanna could think of that would make her father do such a thing.

"Is it about me?" she asked, her eyes boring into Alfred's. She waited with baited breath as the older man returned her gaze impassively, making no indication whether he would answer or not. They stayed in this impasse for what felt like hours, yet Zatanna would not back down. She had to know the answer to this.

Finally, Alfred nodded his head.

Zatanna sucked in a deep breath. So she had been right about that. Still, she had no idea what her father wanted from Bruce in concerning her. Obviously it wasn't a marriage proposal considering Bruce had left the troupe. So while the possibilities were limitless as to what the promise could be, it was at the same time limited. There were only so many things two men could talk about when it came to one man's daughter; unfortunately, Zatanna had no idea what those were.

"Okay," she eventually said, running a hand through her dark locks of hair. "Alright, thanks." She looked away from the butler, looking about the room for something, anything to move her attention away from this fat mystery in her lap.

It was then she was overcome by a yawn, her mouth stretching wide as she held a hand in front of her face. Yeesh, she was really tired. What time was it anyways? "Do you know what time it is?" she asked Alfred.

There was a slight pause before the butler answered her. "I do believe it is nearly five in the morning, miss."

Really? Five in the morning? It was really past her bedtime. Stretching her arms over her head, she felt her body strain and realign itself before she brought her arms down. "I guess it's time I called it a night," she said as she began looking around the room dumbly. "I was hoping to see Bruce before I went, but I guess this is normal for a guy that spends his nights dressed as a bat."

Alfred took her comment in stride. "The price of a double life, I'm afraid." His face frowned then. "However, I don't recall him being out this late unless there was something of utmost importance."

Zatanna snapped her head to the older man. "You mean he's never out this late?"

"Rarely. Again, only special circumstances cause him to stay out longer than usual. Perhaps this is one such time."

The dark-haired woman was shaking her head at that. "I don't think so, not tonight. Not after the Joker threatened the city like he did. I saw the traffic cams; no one was in the streets." She swallowed a lump that was growing in her throat. "I think I need to go back into the cave; something's wrong."

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: Thanks, though I can use google translate too. Just do whatever is easier for you, I've no complaints. Hopefully this chapter came out soon enough for you lol<p> 


	16. Joker's Hideout

Bullock wanted nothing more than to chuck his entire desk into the dumpster out back, set it on fire, and leave for a drink at his favorite dive. The paperwork, the goddamn paperwork, was getting the better of him and he'd been at it all freaking night.

As if last night's bomb threat wasn't enough to deal with, a sudden surge of beaten and maimed gangbangers were suddenly flooding the hospitals and the jail cells of the GCPD. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out just who was behind all the beatings, especially when over half of 'em were babbling like idiots about a giant bat.

Just when he threw the guy a bone, that rat-faced loony throws back a mountain of arrest backlog and boatloads of seized evidence. This was the thanks he got for being nice.

From Bullock's last count, two gangs had pretty much been decimated throughout the night. It wasn't like they were caught in the act of some bank robbery either, as was the vigilante's MO. No, this guy crashed one gang's headquarters, beating every man to a pulp, and then uncovered a huge stash of illegal imported drugs. It didn't really matter what they were other than they were against the law and a seizure that large was good for a lot of prison time. Then the guy scampered over half the damn city to a second gang's headquarters, did the same thing, and left behind a scene of broken, crying men and a room filled to the brim with firearms. While the GCPD had been trying to nail these scumbags for a while now, just having the evidence dropped right into the sergeant's damn lap with a bow on each and every goon was disturbing.

Despite all this, Bullock knew something was wrong. Again, this wasn't the way the Bat operated and to flat out invade two gang hideaways was unheard of. The sergeant thought the vigilante had finally snapped and was doing just what he expected the guy to do. It was only fortunate he was only targeting bad guys right now; when he'd start on civilians for something as mundane as littering was only a matter of time.

And on top of that, that reporter lady from last night had struck again. This time she was using his own words to cast a shadow on the precinct's work, namely connecting the freaking Bat with them as if they were helping each other out all the time. The moment Bullock saw his heated words quoted in the article, he had crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. This was all they needed right now, being associated with a damn vigilante during a psycho's joyride through town.

The large man sighed. You know what? He needed a break. Hauling his hefty body out of his creaky chair, Bullock lumbered away from the mountain of casefiles on his desk and headed for the elevator. Unlike the Com'mish, he didn't feel the need to climb every single stair to get to the roof. It was so much easier to ride the elevator to the top floor before hitting the stairs.

Unfortunately, what started out as a much-desired break soured the moment the elevator doors opened. Immediately, several cops piled out, hauling more bruised and beaten gang members onto the floor and dragging them to booking. Each man had a pair of handcuffs on him and more than one had noticeable limps as they stumbled out of the elevator.

"Let me guess, more gang goons," he commented to one of the officers.

"Yeah, the Bat hit a third gang," the policeman informed him. "They're not as big as the first two, but I think he took out twenty some odd men in this bust."

A third gang? The hell! He'd never get out of this building until next week! Growling, Bullock balled his hands into fists. "For cryin' out loud! Who does this Bat-freak think he is?!" he roared angrily.

The officer shrugged his shoulders unfazed by the outburst before hauling his prisoner away. "At least it's morning," he called back. "Something tells me we won't hear about the Bat until the sun sets."

D'you see? This was what he was talking about! All this insane vigilante guy was doing was causing a bigger mess and a hell of a lot more work than was necessary. Did he honestly think all his work just ended with a citizen's arrest? Hell no! It involved processing, background checks, outstanding warrants, evidence processing, and about a bajillion number of things that most people had no clue cops had to do just to charge a criminal. They had entire case files full of forms just so they could book a guy for jaywalking. At the rate the Bat was working, the GCPD was going to have to take shifts mainly to process every single guy he beat up in the last 10 to 12 hours.

Like hell would Harvey Bullock be hanging around this joint for that.

The doors of the elevator began to slide close, prompting the sergeant to stick a hand out and catch the door, stopping it, and causing it to slide back open. Taking a step to go inside, another ding was made from the next elevator. A moment later, two tough-looking guys stepped out, their heads pivoting about until one of them caught Bullock's backside as he entered his own elevator.

"Commissioner Bullock?" one of them called out, causing Bullock to turned around and look at them, keeping a hand on the elevator door to keep it open. He was about to call the man a dumbass since he was clearly not the commissioner, but his brain kicked in and reminded him that Granger lady had forcefully promoted him.

"Yeah? What do ya want?" he answered, looking at them sourly.

"The Mayor needs a word with you."

"The Mayor?" Bullock said in bafflement. "Uhh, in case you boys didn't know, the mayor got capped last week. Unless you've managed to bring him back to life, I really doubt he has much to say."

That was when a woman he vaguely recognized appeared in front of the elevator's doors. "So we meet again, Commissioner Bullock" she greeted him, her stern face giving the former-sergeant the heeby-jeebies.

"Oh right, it's you," Bullock replied, struggling to come up with a name and finally just giving up. It'd come to him. "What can I do ya for, Mayor?"

The Mayor responded with, "I hear you and your men had quite a busy night last night."

"That's right."

"And you managed to capture the Joker?"

The large man grunted in the negative. "Just a bunch of his goons and they ain't talking right now. Some of them can't 'cause they were involved in accidents."

The Mayor Lady nodded at that, as if he had just confirmed something for her. Bullock didn't like that he had no idea what that thought was. "And those were due to police action or the Batman?"

The newspaper article flashed before Bullock's eyes and he knew just where this was going. "We took out one of the trucks," he said, doing his best not to growl out his frustration.

"One? So those Youtube videos of a black car with military-grade weapons wrecking havoc on the streets are real?"

Goddamn Internet. Even though there wasn't a person on the street, someone had the bright idea to fill every chase scene from some balcony. Some people had some backwards priorities. "I can't say anything about that."

He would've continued, but the Mayor Lady was all over him. Faintly Bullock recalled that she was a lawyer, so it made sense as to why she was so quick witted. "I imagine you very well can considering you admitted as much to a reporter."

Again, Bullock wanted to speak but was interrupted even before he could try. "Listen to me, and listen to be good, Commissioner," Mayor Granger—yes! That was her name!—said, "I do not care how you do it, but I want you to apprehend the Joker using any means necessary. I don't care if you have to sell yourself to the devil himself to do it, or use a vigilante your office is supposed to catch, just get him off my streets."

That made the large man blink his eyes owlishly. He honestly hadn't expected that. "I...uhh..." he stammered out. "Okay, I guess."

Granger gave him a sharp nod. "Just don't tell any goddamn reporters, understood?" she added then. "The last thing we need is the press getting their hands on every little thing that happens."

That obviously went without saying, but considering Bullock had been caught by surprised already, perhaps he warranted the warning. However, before he could respond to that, one of the officers came rushing towards him, looking out of breath. "Sergeant!" the man called out before he came to a stop next to them, leaning forward as he used his hands to brace himself on his knees. He was huffing and puffing something awful as he tried to catch his breath.

"What's wrong?" Bullock asked, raising an eyebrow at the officer.

"Me and a couple of the guys were going over some of the Joker arrests," the man spoke, getting his breathing under control. "There's a lot of guys with connections to Loman. At least half of them."

"You sayin' Loman's in with the Joker?" Bullock asked in surprise.

"I think so, Sir. It could be coincidence, but they're just so many of them."

The sergeant spied the Mayor Lady looking at him expectantly, as if she were waiting to see what his move would be. "Alright, I want every available officer in Chinatown. Get the rest of SWAT down there too. If Loman and Joker are in cahoots, then we might be able to find them at Loman's place. I want everyone running quiet on this one, at least until we go in."

"Yes Sir," the officer replied before taking off.

"It seems you have everything under control," Grange spoke up, sounding pleased with herself.

"Save the back-patting for later," Bullock told her. "We ain't got the clown yet and I'd rather not start jinxing us from the get-go."

* * *

><p>Chinatown was almost an exact copy of China, at least if you'd never been there. The buildings were typical city buildings, but with Chinese decorations and embellishments on them. Hell, the streets had little stands with chinks selling eel heads and whatever pieces of fish you normally didn't eat—well, in Bullock's opinion you shouldn't eat them. He had no idea where they'd been and frankly didn't want to know.<p>

As typical of mob fronts, Loman's place was a dive, or whatever the Chinese equivalent was. To Bullock, it was all the same. You went in, you drank till you had shit for brains, then went home as a drunk driver. It didn't matter if the booze was American or Asian, sauce was sauce.

Still, this bar was fairly low key in comparison to the other Asian buildings. Sure there was some dragon painting on it, but all the other buildings had at least two dragons and red and orange flames pouring out of their mouths. See, low key.

Speaking of low key, the sitting-commissioner looked out his car window and saw very little police presence—by that he meant the circus that seemed to pop up whenever they stormed a building. The other cops were slowly appearing one by one on the street, stationing themselves at parking meters and alleyways all over the place. There were a couple that were milling around on the sidewalk, pretending to be talking to each other, but they made sure to keep their distance from the bar.

Bullock's radio sounded off then. "_Sir, we're in position, over._"

About damn time. That was what was left of SWAT and they were hiding out somewhere around here. Everything was shaping up just the way he ordered it and the large man would've been lying if he said he wasn't feeling a bit confident. It wasn't often he gave out an order and everyone did it. Usually there was some bitching and moaning involved before everyone did what they were supposed to do. Perhaps that might have something to do with the Mayor being there, but Bullock counted it as a perk courtesy of his new office.

Montoya shifted in the passenger seat then, alerting him to her presence. Bullock had been a bit surprised that his former rookie had jumped into his car when they were leaving the precinct, but that had changed when she had told him that he wasn't leaving her out of the action again. It took the large man a moment to realize she had been referring to the Joker's bomb threat and her own bust a couple weeks earlier when he'd complain of the same thing. That had put a smirk on Bullock's face. Rookies, they grew up so fast…

"Something's wrong about this," Montoya said after a moment, seemingly glaring out the windshield towards Loman's place.

"What's got your panties in a knot?" Bullock asked, looking at her blandly.

"Loman usually has a couple guards out front. I'm not seeing anyone," she explained.

Turning to look at the bar's entrance, Bullock realized Montoya was right, there weren't any guards. "Maybe they went to take a leak," he suggested.

Montoya looked at him, raising one of her eyebrows at him. "Both of them at the same time?" She then shook her head. "One I can see, but not both."

"Right, they ain't chicks." Bullock nodded as his partner rolled her eyes. "Not much we can do about it now though. We need to go in before someone realizes we're out here."

"You're the boss."

That was right, he was the boss. Picking up the radio, Bullock pushed the button and ordered, "You got the greenlight. Hit 'em and hit 'em hard, over."

There seemed to be some enthusiasm in the radio guy's voice as he replied, "_Roger that, over._"

Montoya reached over then to the door handle to open it. However, Bullock reached up and grabbed her shoulder, stopping her. "Just wait a sec. I want to see what's going on."

"You'd rather not be the first one in?" Montoya asked him skeptically.

"Who do you take me for?" the large man scoffed. "'course I want to be first in, but I got responsibilities right now that are keeping me from being out there. Besides, SWAT's handling this. If there's anyone I want to be shot at first, it's the guys wearing the kevlar."

The Hispanic woman nodded her head and dropped her hand. "Okay, Sir. I understand."

"Hey, what did I tell you about calling me Sir? It's either Harvey or Bullock."

The corner of Montoya's mouth twitched up. "Sorry, thought I might as well extend the new Com'mish the courtesy due to him."

"Appreciate the thought, but that's for the knuckleheads, not my friends."

"We're friends?"

Bullock gave the dark-haired woman an annoyed scowl. "Drop the wise act, Rook, before I pistol-whip you."

"I'm pretty sure that constitutes as workplace abuse, Bullock, and I'll have you know I don't have to take it."

"Ahh, shuddap."

Montoya relaxed into her seat, a gloating smirk on her face. Bullock had half a mind to send her out into the breech just to show her that, yeah, he was the boss. That thought was pushed aside when he noticed the SWAT boys suddenly running out into the open from all over the place, rushing towards Loman's dive. Surprised civis cried out in shock before scurrying away as quickly as they could. Soon, a crowd of men in black combat fatigues were standing outside of the building, the men parting a way through them as two guys ran up with a heavy-looking metal battering ram.

It was a couple of seconds before the doors were thrown open and the SWAT team barreled into the building. Bullock's radio was going off as the men stormed the bar.

"_Target has been breached. Spread out and search for enemy combatants, over._"

"_Roger that. Securing main room, over._"

"_Someone get the lights on, over._"

"_On it, Sir. Give me two seconds, over._"

A pause, then, "_Hey, does this place look a little empty to anyone, over?_"

"_Look at the walls. There's graffiti all over it. Smiley faces and 'Ha, ha,' over._"

Bullock and Montoya looked at each other, sharp looks on their faces as realization dawned on them just what that meant. Jerking the radio up to his face, the large man shouted, "Get your men out of there now!"

"_Hey, there are barrels all over this place, over._"

"Goddamn it! Get the fuck out of there, right now! That's a goddamn order, over!"

There was another pause, one that seemed to stretch on forever, causing Bullock's stomach to sink. He only felt relief when he heard someone say, "_Everyone, out of the building. Watch where you're walking and_—"

Suddenly, the transmission cut off as the front of Loman's bar exploded, a thunderous boom ringing out as windows of nearby buildings shattered. A giant fireball erupted out into the street before dying off into a giant cloud of black smoke. Bullock could feel the force of the explosion pour over his car, his body being shoved roughly back against his car seat, the radio shrieking loudly with static.

Frantically, Bullock shut the radio off, his ears still ringing from the shrill whine. Staring out his windshield, the large man felt numb as he realized just what happened. Before he knew it, he had thrown open his car door and hauled himself out onto the sidewalk, marching over towards the bonfire that was Loman's dive.

"Harvey!" Montoya shouted after him, her footsteps growing louder as she ran after him. Her hands grabbed onto his arm and tugged back, stopping Bullock from walking any further, not that she had to pull all that hard. With his free hand, Bullock raised it up and ran it through his short black hair, messing it up as his fingers randomly clenched and pulled on the hair follicles.

"Jesus Christ," he swore, his eyes glued to the rising smoke. "Jesus H. Christ, what happened?"

"Harvey, come back to the car," Montoya ordered him, pulling on his arm and steering him away from the burning building. When they reached the vehicle, the Hispanic woman guided him to take a seat on the hood. "Everything is going to be okay, alright?" she said calmly, an attempt to soothe him.

"Okay?" Bullock repeated before his anger got the better of him. "_Okay?!_ How can anything be okay after this?! Just look at that!" The large man waved a hand at the fire and smoke. "Can you tell me? Huh?!"

"You couldn't have known this would happen."

"Of course not, but that doesn't change the fact that all those men are dead. They're freaking dead, Montoya!" Bullock lunged off the car and began pacing up and down the sidewalk. "Jesus freaking Christ."

Step by step, everything was becoming obvious to the frantic man. Loman had been too damn quiet the last few weeks, which was strange considering his lack of competition. Then a bunch of his men showed up in the Joker's gang. Now, with all the reported smiley faces and laughter painted on the walls, it was easy to see that the Joker had hit here first, most likely killing off Loman and taking over his crime family. This was a ready-made hideout for that insufferable clown and he hid out here when he needed to before launching his city-wide attacks.

But Bullock knew that pale-faced freak knew the police would eventually close in on this location, so he rigged it to blow. Goddamn it all, the Joker was ten steps ahead of everyone and he was probably laughing his ass off right now as he watched everyone scrambling around in his wake.

"Harvey," Montoya spoke up again, though she kept her distance this time by standing next to the car. "Look, I know this is bad, but we need to be level-headed here. Get everyone to re-group back at the precinct and we can organize a man-hunt for the Joker. Bring everyone in from Robbery to Homicide to the rest of SWAT—"

"SWAT?" Bullock interrupted, swinging around to the woman. "What SWAT? I just sent in the last SWAT units we had and they got blown to kingdom come! The city ain't got anymore SWAT guys left!"

He could see Montoya's face pale at that, though he didn't take any satisfaction in it. Still, she was right about the rest of it. Taking a deep breath, the large man began counting to ten in his head in an attempt to calm down, then continued on until he reached fifty. Yeah, counting wasn't working all that great.

"Okay, call everyone back," he told the Hispanic woman. "Leave some patrol guys to form a perimeter and call in the fire department, major crimes—hell, get the bomb squad here. I don't want anymore of us getting blown to bits."

Montoya nodded her head before she walked to the open driver's door, reaching in to turn the radio back on and do as he ordered. Looking back at Loman's, Bullock just watched as the thick black smoke raised higher and higher into the sky.

_Goddamn it._

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: Thanks. What makes you think Zatanna will be mad?<p> 


	17. The Face of the Watchful Eyes

There was a full moon tonight and it was lighting up the Gotham night. Inside the burnt husk that used to be Loman's headquarters, the moon lit up the soot-covered floor and ruined walls.

Batman glided across the floor, taking in everything the crime scene had to offer. Footprints marred the soot-covered floors, the result of Gotham's police and emergency response teams removing the corpse of SWAT. Everything here was the result of the Joker, a goodbye present to his hideout and a trap to catch any unsuspecting trespasser. Good men had paid the price for it and that did nothing to soothe the burning rage inside the vigilante.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much else that could be salvage here. If there were any clues as to the Joker's current whereabouts or whatever plans he was concocting, they were lost to the explosion. The dark-clad man had spent the better part of an hour tonight searching the entire building and had come up empty-handed. Just another in a long list for frustrations that had been building for the last week.

With a look of disgust, Batman made his way out of the building, heading out the same way he had entered. A portion of the roof towards the back of Loman's had been blown out in the explosion, giving a view of the night sky. Grappling out, the vigilante was soon atop the next building, heading towards its opposite side.

It was two rooftops over when he felt the eyes again. Of course, he'd been aware of them since he had begun his patrol, but with his thoughts focused on the Joker, he had momentarily forgotten about them. The body count following the madman continued to rise without any sign of slowing and a cursory glance around told him that everyone in the city could see it.

The streets were unusually empty, be it civilian or criminal. No one wanted to be caught up in the clown's next scheme and they were taking precautions to protect themselves. The very thought that people felt unsafe boiled the blood in the vigilante's veins.

Good people weren't supposed to be afraid of the streets, huddling in their homes and hoping that one more night passed without conflict. That was the purpose of Batman, to make that happen. Now, it was as if Gotham had reverted back to the old days where crime bosses controlled the streets. It was infuriating to know that for all the good he had done, it could just as easily be undone.

And it was for that reason Batman felt something snap inside of him. For over a year, these prying eyes watched his every move, assessing him for whatever reason they felt it necessary. Shaking them off his trail had not deterred them; attempts at making contact had failed as well. Subtlety meant nothing now. It was time he forced a confrontation.

Considering all the time he had to dwell on this annoyance, Batman had figured that if he had to fight whoever it was out there, he needed an ideal setting. It was clear none of them wanted to face him head on, content with observation. However, there were times where they became more aggressive in their pursuit of him, that being when he climbed tall buildings. It was how the vigilante had managed to lose them on his many attempts, using the seconds it bought him to cross the rooftop and launch off in any direction he pleased, gliding between buildings until he was finally alone.

He was in Chinatown right now, quickly on his way out. The closest skyscraper was the Cale Anderson building, which he could see several blocks down, the neon blue lit sign proclaiming the company's name extending out from the room.. That would work just nicely.

Arms pumping at his sides, Batman rushed across his present rooftop, grapple in hand as he reached the edge. Aiming, he fired out the cable and ran off the roof, the line going tant as he swung through the air. Swinging his legs out in front of him, he aided his momentum as he began arcing up through the air, reaching a taller building and landing on it. Retracting the grapple line, he kept running, crossing every rooftop he needed to, grappling onto the taller ones and even using his cape glider to fly over a couple blocks.

Soon, he was across the street of the Cale Anderson Building, having just reached the building across from it. Running, the vigilante aimed his grapple towards the top and fired. The moment the claw hit an anchor point and the line went stiff, he hit the retraction button and flew skyward. Rows and columns of windows blurred in front of him until he reached the top of the skyscraper, his boots touching down gracefully.

Placing the grapple back in his belt, Batman took note of his surroundings. For the most part, the rooftop was empty, save for the large roof entrance. It was a square structure towards one side of the roof, metal support beams extending out on top of it as they formed the legs for the Cale Anderson sign. Thanks to the moon, everything was lit up, providing very little shadows for hiding.

Yet there was one place he could use as he waited for his ambush. Moving to the roof access, Batman climbed on top of it and crouched by one of the sign legs. The legs weren't thick enough to provide some cover to the unobservant eye, so a quick strike the moment his quarry appeared was necessary. Pulling out a small pellet, Batman watched the edge of the roof.

The wait was long, but then he had expected as much. He had tried a stunt like this a few times and came away empty-handed. Upon further review, he had come to realize his body language had given away his attempt and the prying eyes would pull back. This time, he had made sure to give off the impression he wanted to lose them, to provoke their pride to make sure they didn't want to lose him. The vigilante had been intending on using this strategy on his next attempt at contact, but he had to put it aside for obvious reasons.

And his preparations were rewarded. Though it took awhile, eventually a figure appeared on the roof. Their movements were cautions, yet certain. The person was clearly hunting, head tilting side to side as they examined the area and looked for any trace that their prey had been here—or perhaps a threat that was lying in wait.

From what he could tell, the person wore some sort of full-body body suit from head to toe. There was no telling if there were gloves or boots as the entire outfit appeared to be of the same material and color, save for a pair of goggles around the eyes. Their build was masculine though, so it was most definitely a man.

So this was who was following him night in and night out.

Keeping his own movements to a minimum, Batman tossed out the small, round pellet, the ball flying towards the man's head. The man, however, caught sight of the flying projectile and danced forward, attempting to duck the pellet and put himself in the position to attack.

That had been expected. The moment the pellet hit the roof, it exploded, releasing a thick cloud of smoke. Because the man had been so focused on the pellet, his back was now towards the Batman's perch. Lunging, Batman leapt out, flying through the air as he closed in on the man and rammed his opponent in the back with his shoulder.

There was a cry as the man crashed to the ground within the smoke, the vigilante landing behind him. However, before the vigilante could move, the man suddenly exploded out of the smoke, swinging a kick that connected with Batman's face. Batman's head snapped to a side, spit flying out of his mouth; yet, he recovered just as quickly as his foe. Hand balled into a fist, he immediately sent it flying, just as the masked man turned his back to him, a result of his spinning kick. Batman's fist landed on the back of the man's head, causing him to stumbled forward from the flow. Next, the vigilante, raised a foot up and swung it low, kicking the man on the side of his knee.

The moment he saw the man's knee give out, Batman knew he had him. Once his opponent collapsed to the ground on one knee, the vigilante grabbed him by the back of his suit, fingers sinking into the material and bunching it as he clutched it. With a growl, Batman twisted his body to a side, picking the man off of the ground and threw him towards the roof access.

His opponent hit the small structure with the back of his head, another cry coming out from him before he fell into a heap on the roof. Whatever fight was in him was gone as he laid there. With a spring in his step, Batman allowed his cape to encompass him as he approached his adversary. Once he reached him, the dark-clad man kneeled down and grabbed the man by his body suit at the chest. "Now then, I've got some questions for you," he told the man, "and you're going to answer every single one of them. If—"

Just then, something whizzed by him, causing Batman to jerk his head to a side an instant later. That didn't stop him from seeing a dart suddenly plunge into the man's neck.

For a moment, the world stopped as Batman broke into a cold sweat. Eyes on the dart, he felt instant recognition. It had been years ago, during his travels that he saw one exactly like it. Thin black shaft, yellow feathering—it was a dart awashed in mystery. He'd only seen two of them, but he knew they were laced with poison. Add to that anyone he ever asked of them suddenly clammed up and practically fled in fright from him said just how dangerous this dart was.

Not to mention the force that used it.

Whipping around, Batman froze at what he saw. Lining the edge of the rooftop were more men dressed like the one he had just fought. Only one of them was moving, a dart gun in his hand that he was placing back into his belt. All of them were facing the vigilante, waiting as if for some command.

"Who are you?" the vigilante demanded, turning his body around and stepping towards them. When none of them answered, his ire increased exponentially. "Why the hell are you following me?"

He didn't hear anything as much as he felt it. Snapping his head to a side, he caught sight of two of the disguised men standing by their fallen comrade. It all came to Batman in an instant. They wanted to distract him so they could remove the dead man's corpse, then most likely take off into the city to lose him. Like _hell _he would let that happen.

With one hand shooting down to his belt, he brought out two bat-shared shuriken and sent them flying. A moment later, one of the men was pinned to the wall of the roof access, the shuriken pinning the cloth of his body suit against it. Immediately, his friend whipped his head around to look at the vigilante, expecting another attack.

Batman didn't disappointment him. Like a wraith, he launched himself at the man, throwing a punch at him. Much to the dark-clad man's surprise, however, his foe caught his fist and immediately shot up his free hand. Twisting Batman's balled hand, the disguised man brought his other hand up and pushed it above the vigilante's elbow, hyperextending the arm.

Batman grunted at that, pain shooting up his arm. He recognized that armbar and knew it was folly to try to get out of it haphazardly. His anger was starting to cloud his judgement and he needed to force it down if he wanted to take on someone with skill.

Trying to overpower this man was not the way to go. Neither was throwing another punch since if Batman tried to turn his body, his hyperextended arm would only decrease the power he could put into a second punch. Then again, any possible move he had was going to be very awkward and quite painful.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his right foot up, bending the knee of his left. Simultaneously, he snapped his left leg up, leaping off the ground as he swung the right up. The toe of his boot connected with the man's chin, causing his head to jerk up and his hand to release their hold. Quickly drawing his arm back, Batman allowed his foot to go as high as it could before he swung it back down, leaning his body forward as he did so. This time the heel of his foot came down on his opponent's shoulder, causing him to crumple down from the blow.

The sound of gravel crunching caught his ear then, the vigilante spinning around. Two of the men from the edge of the roof had leapt from their perch, rushing towards him. The one on the left was faster than his comrade, however, and that was the one Batman put his attention on first. As the man threw a fist, the dark-clad man shot an arm up, blocking the blow. Immediately, he extended his arm down and grabbed his opponent's arm. When a second punch was thrown, Batman did the same thing, blocking it before grabbing the extended arm. Stepping to his left, the vigilante forced the disguised man to stand between him and the other attacker.

The plan had been to deal with his human shield then, but the sound of steel sliding against leather caught his ear. Jerking his head around, he saw another man with a sword coming at him, swinging the blade at him. Instantly, Batman released the grip he had on the man in front of him and brought it up, the triangle blades of his gauntlet catching the swinging sword midarc.

Unfortunately, that left him wide open as his captive, pivoted on one of his feet, raising a leg up and swinging it, landing a kick to Batman's open midsection. The air in his lungs was violently forced out, causing him to gasp as he bent over from the blow. The man brought his leg back, then just as quickly snapped it forward, kicking him in the face and knocking the vigilante off his feet. He landed on his back hard, a weak cry escaping his lips.

Damn, these guys were good. For a brief moment, he wondered if these were highly-trained ninjas, what with their martial arts skills, weapons, and their uncanny ability to move just as quietly as him. Actually, that made too much damn sense not to be the case.

A flash in the moonlight tore him from his realization, just in time to see the sword-wielding ninja swinging his blade down again. Shooting both arms up, Batman caught the sword with this gauntlets again, hearing the scraping of metal-on-metal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the kicking ninja coming back at him. Batman immediately grabbed hold of the sword ninja's forearm with his left hand, holding it tightly as he observed his comrade planting one foot down and raising the other high, ready to stomp the vigilante. With a jerk, Batman took control of the sword, straightening it out and driving it into the ninja's foot. A howl of pain rang out from the man as he backed off, putting his foot down and bending down to grab the sword. In the meantime, due to his move, the sword-wielding ninja had been forced to bend over, allowing Batman to bend his right arm and ram his elbow into the man's face, knocking him back.

Swinging his legs up as he rolled up onto his upper back, the dark-clad man shot them back, using their motion to propel him off his back and onto his feet. Once he had his balance, Batman spun around, lashing a hand out and grabbing onto the sword-impaled ninja by the back of his head. With great force, he slammed the man's head on the hilt of the sword, knocking him out before letting him go.

That was when the other rushing ninja intervened, jumping up as he sent a spinning kick at the vigilante. This time, Batman allowed the kick to land on his chest, quickly followed by his arms wrapping around the appendage, one arm over and the other under the leg. With a war cry, Batman spun to a side, swinging the ninja as he did so and threw him at the sword-wielding ninja, the two colliding with each other and crashing to the ground.

Before he could stand up to his full height, something slammed into the back of Batman's head, causing him to see stars as he stumbled forward. Snarling, he quickly recovered as he spun around, catching sight of another ninja.

However, he immediately noticed something different. This one seemed smaller than his friends. Their frame was thinner and curvier as well. A woman?

Shaking the flashing stars in front of his eyes, Batman strode towards his new adversary, raising his hands up at the last moment before the ninja threw a punch at him. Blocking it, he patiently waited for the second one to be thrown, blocking that as well before he threw his own counterpunch.

The female ninja blocked that one as well, parrying as she sent another blow. The vigilante forced himself to stay on the defensive, content to blocking the woman's attacks and occasionally throwing one of his own, to which she would stop just as he would. She was good, efficient, and powerful. Though he would've preferred to go on the offensive, Batman knew he couldn't go stumbling around as he had been. He was beginning to calm down from his earlier rage, becoming more focused as his heated blood left his head.

Feeling more confident, Batman threw a punch at the woman. To his surprise, however, she ducked to a side, spinning as she did so. The next thing he knew, the heel of her boot slammed into the side of his face, causing the dark-clad man to jerk to a side and down.

Yet, it wasn't enough to stop the Batman. Gritting his teeth, he lunged at her then, catching her off guard as he extending his elbow out and rammed it into her chest. The force of his charge knocked her backwards, one of her arms immediately crossing over her torso to provide some protection.

Unfortunately, before Batman could press his advantage, another ninja jumped down from his perch, unsheathing his sword as he did so. Turning his attention to him, the vigilante waited for the swing to come before he caught the blade with his gauntlet and triangle blades again. In a fluid motion, Batman swung his other arm up, slamming his fist into the man's face, snapping his head to a side and his body to instantly drop to the ground, where he caught himself on his hands and knees. To add insult to injury, Batman kicked out his leg as he continue to spin, kicking the fallen ninja in the face and knocking him out.

With that, the vigilante turned back to the female ninja, finding that she had put some distance between them. In fact, two more of her companions had moved in between her and the dark-clad man. One of them casually twirled a bo staff in front of his body while the other held a nasty-looking dagger.

With a growl, Batman began to approach them. The moment he came into hitting distance, the ninja with the staff lashed out, thrusting one end at the vigilante's mid-section. Immediately, he jumped back, evading the thrust. That didn't deter the man as he sent a barrage of thrusts with the staff, to which Batman either moved back or dodged to a side. All the while, he allowed his cape to envelop him, shielding his hand from reaching to his belt and pulling out a shuriken.

Then, the ninja changed tactics, bringing his staff in with his hands situated at the weapon's center before closing the distance between them. At the last second, he swung one of the ends at the vigilante, to which he ducked and danced to a side. Once he was in the clear, he threw his arm out, tossing his cape out to his side and threw the bat-shaped shuriken. The projectile collided with the man's head, snapping it back as it stunned him.

That was when the dagger-wielding ninja made his move, charging at the two. Leaping at the staff-wielding ninja, Batman wrapped an arm around the man's neck, using him as support as the vigilante swinging his legs up off the ground and bent them at the knee. He then lashed them out, striking the bottom of his boots into the face of the dagger-holding ninja, knocking him off of his feet and onto the ground.

Due to his swing and weight, he threw his captive off balance, causing the man to tip over and fall backwards to the ground. With a loud _thud!_ they hit the ground hard, the ninja gasping out from the landing. Because Batman's arm was around his throat, the sudden fall crushed his arm against the man's larynx, doing additional damage to the throat.

In an instant, Batman was back on his feet, ready to take on the dagger-holding ninja in case he was still a threat. The sudden sight of ninja stars flying by his head, one in front of his face and one behind the back of his skull, startled him enough to drop into a defensive stance, head twisting to see which opponent had thrown them. His eyes quickly found the female ninja, who was standing on the ledge of the building, her body straightening out to her full height.

And then, she shot an arm up—not to throw something at him, much the vigilante's surprise—and held her hand up and gesturing him to stop. Furthering adding to the absurdity of it all, Batman felt himself halt in his tracks.

"Enough," a feminine voice called out. It was thickly-accented, though not all that unpleasant to the ear. "We mean you no harm."

If she had been able to see his face, she would have saw the raise eyebrow the Batman gave her. "No harm? Right. Then what do you call this?"

"You attacked one of our own. We were only trying to retrieve him when you intervened."

Batman scowled at her. "You've been following me for months. What is it you want?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

Her head tilted up, almost as if she were giving him a haughty look. Perhaps she was underneath her mask. "Believe what you will. You have bigger problems before you."

"Which still makes you a problem," he shot back. "This ends tonight. I will not be looking over my shoulder while you're watching me, waiting for the opportunity to strike. That's the only reason you have for not attacking me yet and you know it."

The female ninja was silent at that. Then, "I can promise you this: you have nothing to fear from us. We will not interfere with your battle with the clown."

"Excuse me if I have my doubts about that."

For a moment, Batman felt as if the woman was smiling at him. Nothing about her changed, but whatever menacing aura she had faded. "A warrior should always be cautious, even when approached by a friend. Perhaps when this is all over, we can meet again—assuming that you survive."

Then, without warning, the ninja step off the ledge and plunged over it. Eyes wide, Batman dashed to the edge, looking over it only to find no sign of her. Eyes narrowing, he scanned the street far below, along with the buildings across the street. Nothing. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

With a scowl, the vigilante turned around, only to be greeted with another unpleasant sight. Once more, he saw nothing. No sign of the other ninjas, including their fallen members and swords. Aside from a blood stain a few feet away, it was if nothing had happened.

Damn it, they got away. Batman clenched his hands tightly into fists. There went his opportunity to learn about them. Though he was skeptical, he was finding himself believing that they wouldn't be a threat as long as the Joker was out and about. Not exactly a comforting thought considering he's have another battle on his hands once this sorry mess was over.

There wasn't much left to do here, unfortunately. He needed to collect a sample of the blood, but that was all he could do. It wouldn't tell him much, but he had to at least try.

A sigh escaped his lips. Though the night was young, Batman felt exhausted, physically and mentally. It was time he went home.

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: Hope the wait was worth it lol<p> 


	18. Home

The lock gave with weary familiarity, the front door swinging in. "Alright Dad, we're almost there," Barbara proclaimed as she led her father in, much to his growing annoyance.

"Barbara, I know you mean well," Gordon said as he entered the house, his daughter quickly turning around to close the door behind them, "but I ain't an invalid yet. Now quit treating me like one."

"Of course you're not," the redhead said as she once more maneuvered him through the small dining room and into the main room. "But you just got released from the hospital and the nurses were very adamant that you take it easy for the next couple of days."

"Taking it easy is one thing, but you're hovering. Now, I didn't take that when your mother was around and I'm sure as hell not taking it from you. Now get your skinny bottom away from me so I can walk without tripping on you."

Immediately, Barbara stepped back, her hands up in the air. "Fine, have it your way," she said in that maddening, mothering voice. It was like she was the parent instead of the other way around and she was going to let Gordon bumble around for a few moments before telling him that she was right and they would be doing things her way.

Scowling, Gordon held his head high as he trudged over to the couch, plopping himself right onto it. He immediately found where the cushion dipped, an indication of where he usually sat on it. "See, I did it all by myself without any help," he gloated.

Barbara just looked at him unimpressed. "Uhh, Dad, it's late."

"So?"

"That means it's time to go to bed, not sit down and watch The Late Show."

"Damn it, Barbara, you know I don't watch that crap."

"Good, then you can go straight to bed."

The two Gordons stared each other down, neither one giving an inch. The older man knew that if he gave in now, there was no way he'd hear the end of the redhead's pestering. She meant well and he knew that, but he was a grown man damn it and he knew when he needed to put his foot down. This was one of those times.

For all of three seconds. Gordon's shoulders sagged. "Fine, I'm going to bed then." And he'd admitted defeat. Seeing the victorious look on his daughter's face soured his mood further.

Pressing his hands onto the couch cushion, he pushed down on it and began rising up, only to drop back down. With a frown, he pushed down again and didn't get much further. He tried again only to get the same result.

"Needs some help, Dad?"

"No, I don't need help," Gordon snapped, glaring at the redhead as she continued to smirk at him. Putting some more effort into it, the old man managed to get up on his feet, straightening his shirt once he did and shot a look at his daughter. "See? Did it all by myself like I always do."

"Very good, Dad. Bedroom, now."

Even in defeat, somehow Barbara seemed to snatch out some small victory. "I'm going, I'm going," Gordon grumbled as he began shuffling to the small hallway that led to the bedrooms. He sensed the girl following him, making sure to stay within catching distance should he stumble. That did nothing for his temper, as short as it was.

"You know, Barb," he spoke up, turning his head around to look at her. "I could use some water."

"Oh? You sure you don't want to get it?" Barbara replied, giving him a teasing look.

"I thought you wanted to help out?" he shot back.

Barbara raised her hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, Dad, I'll get you some water. I'll meet you in your room."

And with that, the redhead retreated to the kitchen, the sound of the cupboard being open as she searched out a glass. Feeling some space for the first time since the hospital, Gordon sighed before making his way down the hall, coming to a stop at the second door to the left. Pushing the door open, he stepped in and turned on a light, the sight of his messy bedroom greeting him.

Now that was a sight for sore eyes: his own, unmade bed. First thing was first though, so he headed to his dresser. There he began rifling through his pockets, pulling out his wallet, phone, and badge and setting them down on the wooden furniture. There was a small metal box close by and he flipped open the lid, seeing a foam cushion inside with the outline of a gun in it. Reaching to his gun holster, Gordon pulled out his handgun and slid out the magazine, placing the gun in its resting place and the magazine in soon after. Shutting the case, he then activated the lock.

Turning around, he then walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. It was about then that Barbara showed up in his doorway, holding a glass of water. "Here you go, Dad," she said as she walked in, holding the glass out to him.

"Thanks," he grunted as he accepted the cup, taking a deep drink from it. When Gordon lowered the glass, he noticed his daughter looking at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow at that.

"Anything else I can do for you, Daddy?" the redhead asked him innocently.

"No, that's all," he dismissed her before taking another sip. Gordon watched as Barbara nodded her head before leaving the room, heading to a door across the hall and switching on the light: her own bedroom. Gordon stared at the new light, occasionally taking small sips of his water. It was right about then that the old man began to feel his conscious eating at him. She was doing exactly what a caring girl would do after seeing her father get struck down by a giant cloud of laughing gas. Yeah, her treating him like an invalid was annoying, but she meant well. There was no way he could go to sleep without offering some sort of apology.

With a sigh, Gordon stood up from the bed, shuffling over to the dresser to set his water glass down. He then walked out of his room and over to Barbara's. The older man had the redhead's name on the tip of his tongue the moment he poked his head into her room, but it died there when he realized she wasn't there. Must've slipped out when he wasn't paying attention. Oh well.

Gordon was about to turn back around when he noticed something on his daughter's bed. On the pink comforter were two albums, one of which was closed while the other was open. Curiosity getting the better of him, Gordon walked into the room, heading to the bed and taking a seat on it.

A glance at the album showed him a few pictures, some of which he recognized. One was of the two of them outside Barbara's high school her freshman year. She had a big smile on her face, her hair tied up in a ponytail as she looked as if she were bouncing on her feet. Gordon himself was a lot more sedate, offering a thin smile, but there were a lot less wrinkles on his face, he noticed.

There were a couple other pictures, ones with Barbara and some of her girlfriends throughout school or out somewhere in Gotham. Flipping the page, Gordon was greeted with more pictures of Barbara and her friends. It looked like they were having some fun, that was for sure. A small grin appeared on his face at that.

Turning the page again, he then saw shots of Barbara at the GCPD. There were a bunch of goofy ones, like one where Barbara was sitting at one of the desk, pretending to be hard at work. Another had her pointing at some piece of paper with fingerprints at them, the redhead holding it up as if she had discovered some sort of clue on them. Then there was one with her and Bullock digging into a box of donuts.

Gordon kept looking through the laminated pages of the album, his smile growing bigger and bigger. He had had some doubts as to how his little girl was doing, what with him being a cop in a city like Gotham. Seeing all the smiles and the goofiness put his fears at ease, at least for now.

Turning the pages back to the one he started on, Gordon then glanced at the second one. He stared at it for a moment before reaching out, picking it up and setting it down on top of the first one. Digging his fingers somewhere into the middle of it, he then flipped it open and stared at what it had to offer.

_WHO IS THE BATMAN?_

_What the hell?_

_CITY VIGILANTE CRUSHES RIOT_

_BATTLE AT WAYNE ENTERPRISES_

_GANGLAND MASSACRE_

Whatever good feelings Gordon had evaporated the moment he realized just what he was looking at. Flipping page after page and seeing newspaper clippings and articles, the police commissioner immediately recognized all of them pertained to the Batman. Stopping, he then began turning the pages backwards, recognizing some of the bigger headlines.

_BATMAN SAVES GOTHAM_

_BATTLE OF THE VIGILANTES: ICEMAN VS BATMAN_

_NIGHT OF ICE_

_THE DAY GOTHAM FROZE OVER_

The infamous Night of Ice, Gordon knew all of those headlines by heart. It had been the talk of the city for weeks and was constantly being referenced by journalists whenever Batman did something incredible. Yet, the newspaper clippings didn't stop there. They went even further back.

_GIANT BAT SIGHTED AT MUSEUM_

_GOTHAM'S NEW VIGILANTE_

And then, the big, boisterous headlines and articles vanished. In their places were smaller articles with mentionings of some small time vigilante activities. A quick skim through them told Gordon that each one mentioned a dark shade or monster. Those didn't last too long though, as vague mentionings of a man in a ski mask stopped a robbery here and a carjacking there. A glance to the article dates informed him that some of these ski mask vigilante acts were committed a year or so before the whisper of a giant bat stalking the streets.

Gordon wasn't sure whether to be impressed or horrified that Barbara had something like this. He had known she had a rather...unhealthy focus on the dark vigilante, but this was something else. His daughter had gone through who knows how many newspapers, combing them for mentionings of vigilantism, and making copies of the ones associated with the Batman.

No, Gordon knew what he felt towards this. This obsession had gone on long enough and he needed to put an end to it right now.

* * *

><p>It was good to be home. No more uncomfortable couches to sleep on; no more nightly visits from nurses sneaking into the room to record vitals; no more worry about whether her father was going to suddenly flatline out of nowhere and she'd have to watch a cadrie of hospital staff descend on him to get him stabilized.<p>

Leaving the bathroom, Barbara almost skipped her way to her father's room. Her bladder had been waiting to relieve itself for quite some time, but she'd been holding it ever since the doctors gave Dad a clean bill of health and told him to get ready to leave. Next on her list was to have a nice, hot bath, but that could wait until after she was sure her father was tucked into bed and dreaming about donuts and cigarettes.

Although he had been grumpy ever since they left the hospital, Barbara was glad Dad was fighting her every step of the way. To her, it meant he was ready to kick some butt once he was ready to go back to work. Of course, that wasn't going to stop her from babying him a little bit—everyone deserved to have someone fuss over them at one time or another.

Walking back to her bedroom, Barbara was fully intent on getting her nightwear out when she froze in her doorway. There, on her bed, was her dad, and he was looking at her photo albums. One wasn't all that bad, but she had a sinking feeling that he was looking at one that was much more flammatory.

It had been a mistake to leave it out as she had. The redhead hadn't even been looking at it, simply pulling it out with her photo album and tossing it on her bed. However, the moment she heard her father was in the hospital, she had forgotten all about it and rushed out—a huge mistake on her part.

Barbara didn't have to say anything to get her dad's attention. Barely a second went by before he raised his head up, as if he knew she was standing there. His face was stern and the redhead got the distinct feeling she was in for a lecture.

"Do you want to explain yourself," Gordon said simply, his voice giving no indication as to his feelings. Even from where she stood, Barbara could make out the grey paper and black letters in the album book and she knew just what explanation he was looking for.

And it was one she couldn't give.

So they stayed that way, staring the other down in another showdown, though unlike the one in the main room, Barbara felt that this one was going to end in the exact opposite. Yet, she didn't utter a peep, letting the tension grow between them up to unbearable levels.

Surprisingly, her father gave in before the young woman spilled her guts out. "I know about your crush, Barbara," he said quietly, which only served to sink her stomach further and cause her face to pale. "I know why you were visiting the GCPD so often at night, why you always followed me up to the roof. I was hoping you'd grow out of it, but it seems I was mistaken."

"Dad, I…" she trailed off.

There was a weariness in her father's eyes that made her stop. At that moment, he looked at her with every year his body had gone through and much more. It was shocking for her to see him blatantly admit that he was so rundown. She didn't like it one bit.

"You need to stop this, Barbara," he continued. "For your own good. This man," he gestured to the book, "is not the kind of guy you should be interested in."

"But—!"

Gordon held up a hand to stop her, cutting her off. "Look, I get it. He saved you once and believe me, I get it. But this needs to end, for your sake, sweetheart. This can only lead you to trouble."

"But aren't you two friends?" Barbara protested, finally getting some words out. She couldn't take the casual dismissal her father was giving her. How could he expect her to give up her feelings after feeling them for so long?

Dad gave a harsh chuckle, one she didn't like. "That's putting it mildly, sweetheart. The Batman has no friends, he can't. He has people he works with, but that's as far as he can go, not without getting that person hurt, or worse. It's also my job to apprehend him the first chance I get."

"You shook his hand though!"

"A one time thing, I can assure you. I shouldn't have even done that, to be honest, especially with all the heat that came down on us from the mayor." He sighed then. "Don't get me wrong, Barbara, I appreciate everything that he's done for the city, but vigilantism is against the law and he's broken that wide through. I don't want to have to bring him in, but I have to."

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his feet and hobbled his way over to her. Dad came to a stop in front of her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Please, do this for me: destroy that thing before someone else finds it. Nothing good can come from it."

The two of them fell into a silence, her father gazing at her apologetically while Barbara couldn't bring herself to look at him, her head tilted down so she was staring at the older man's feet. After awhile, Dad leaned in and kissed her forehead before moving around her and leaving her bedroom, heading for his own. It wasn't until he closed his door that Barbara's shoulders sagged.

Closing her own door, the redhead stumbled to her bed and plopped herself on her mattress. She stared at the top page, noting the article on a ski mask-wearing vigilante. There was a small amount of relief in her that this was as far as her father had gotten.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the laminated page and flipped it over. This time a piece of paper looked back at her. On the sheet was a drawing of a woman in black, long flowing hair, and a cape. Her blue eyes gazed over the tight suit and the mask with two pointed horns on it. Then she dropped her sights to the bat symbol on the chest.

Yeah, it was a very good thing her father hadn't seen this.

* * *

><p>The tunnel amplified the rumblings of the engine of the dark car, making it seem louder than it was. The familiar twists and turns came to him as he sped through them. Soon, Batman entered the main cave, bringing the car to a stop and activating the canopy to open. Once the roof had slid forward, Batman climbed out of the car, turning it off and walking away as the canopy slid closed.<p>

It had been two whole nights since he had been in the cave, a first for him. It was a bit strange being gone from it, especially in costume; yet, everything was exactly like he left it, from the equipment to the chirping colony of bats overhead. The vigilante wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he felt something gnawing at him from the inside. He just wasn't sure what it was yet.

Following routine, Batman strode to the super computer, the screen lighting up as he sat in his chair and his fingers dancing across the keyboard. He had some work to catch up on, namely his records of his patrols. Perhaps that was what was nagging him, having unfinished work. Even as he brought up the documentation program though, he knew that wasn't it. Pausing for a moment, he recounted Joker's bomb threat, his descent into gang territory, and ultimately the clash with the ninjas. Undoubtedly he was going to be missing some details and that didn't sit well with him. He was fortunate that he had the video logs to help keep some details in line, but he was going to have to view them for quite awhile to make sure he got everything.

Before he could start, however, he became aware of a tapping sound coming from behind him. Instantly he froze up. There were only so many people that could be behind him and from the sound of the tap, he highly doubted it was Alfred.

It was a moment before he slowly spun the chair around, turning to see a glaring Zatanna standing a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping on the cave floor. Had she been wearing a bathrobe and hair curlers instead of her stage costume, she would've had the long-waiting spouse pose down to a T.

The two of them stared at each other for awhile, the only sound being made was the incessant tapping of Zatanna's shoe. Eventually, she was the one to break the silence. "So you're back," she stated with an eerie calmness.

Batman merely nodded his head in response.

"You know, Alfred said it was very unusual for you to stay away for so long; that you always came back to the cave every night. He was worried about you, especially when he called your company and found out you hadn't even bothered showing up for work."

"I was busy," the dark-clad man grunted.

"Oh, we know. Considering how the Internet's been going nuts with reports that you crashed, what, five different gang spots?"

"Where are you going with this?"

Zatanna stopped her tapping, her scowl deepening. "What is wrong with you?!" she shouted, her voice bouncing off the cave walls. "You were supposed to come back, like you're supposed to, not hide out somewhere in the city. Hell, you didn't even let Alfred or me know that you were okay. Just freaking radio silence and the both of us wondering if you'd be coming back at all."

The dark-haired woman's outburst didn't faze the vigilante in the least. "I'm sorry you were worried, but there were things to do," he told her succinctly.

"Oh really?" she challenged him. "Like what? You know, other than beating on a bunch of punks and thugs."

"I do that every night," he shot back, his irritation beginning to crack into his voice. "Last night was nothing different."

"So chasing trucks with bombs in them is routine for you, huh? And then actively seeking out gang hideouts is as common as showering for you?"

"Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just ranting?"

Zatanna gritted her teeth. "My point, if you actually care to listen, is that you're letting this Joker guy get to you. I said that last night and I stand by it."

"He is _not_ getting to me."

"Then why did you not come home last night?"

"I said I was—"

"Busy, right." The dark-haired woman shook her head. "I'm not buying that, Bruce, no matter how many times you say it. I've seen this with Jeff, you know. He'd get so angry at times, he'd storm off and no one would see him until the next day. That's what's happening to you; you got angry and went to beat up on a bunch of lowlifes to make you feel better."

Batman turned his seat away from her, removing her from his sights. "I was looking for information on the Joker's whereabouts," he shot back heatedly. "He's been dealing with hired muscle since he showed up, so I went to those 'lowlifes' and sought out anything they knew about it."

"If you call sending countless people to the hospital with broken bones and lacerated organs asking, then you did a bang-up job about it. Did you actually learn anything other than how many times you could pound someone's head before they couldn't say anything?"

Batman's fists were clenched tightly by now. At that last jab, he spun the chair around again, practically launching himself out of it as he stormed over to the magician. He was going to walk past her, but Zatanna stepped in front of him, her blue eyes blazing at him. "What the hell do you want from me?" he growled at her dangerously. "To admit I lost control? Is that it?"

"I want," Zatanna said, "to help you anyway I can, just like I told you." Deliberately, she raised a hand up and pressed it against his chest. "And right now, you need as much of it as you can get."

Immediately, the vigilante's hands shot up, grabbing the woman by her upper arms and pushing her back. He didn't let go of her, but he refused to let her take a step closer. "And I told you that I'm not going to put you out where you can get hurt."

"Who said I have to go out there?" she retorted evenly. "Right now, it's not Gotham you need help with; it's your own head. You're about to burst from everything going on right now and you're the only one that can't see it."

His eyes narrowed beneath his lens, his arms drawing the magician closer to him, his hands keeping their tight grasp. "And what if I tell you you can't?"

Zatanna held his gaze unflinchingly. "Too bad."

Batman blinked his eyes then. When they opened, he found that he had drawn Zatanna closer to him, his lips crashing against hers as he roughly kissed her. Much to his surprise, she returned it with equal furiosity. His arms dropped from her, wrapping around her waist as she held her closer, Zatanna moving her own to encircle his neck. The only sound he could hear was of their gasping breaths and the smacking of their lips as they assaulted each other.

He wasn't sure what had caused this or why they kept going at it, but after awhile Bruce gave up trying to think about it. There were some things that didn't require such thought and this was one of them. Soon, he lost track of time all together, along with his armor and Zatanna's clothes. He'd even lost track of their surroundings as they fell onto his bed in the master bedroom, lip-locked and fully intent on each other.

And for the first time in a long while, Bruce felt bliss.

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: I aim to please. Thanks for the hug and here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed!<p> 


	19. Rescue Bruce

_The thin end goes under the big end, then around. Hold the center and bring the big end up and through the loop._

Bruce paused for a moment before he jerked the misshapen knot he was making with his tie. He'd been at this for the last couple of minutes, standing in front of his mirror in the bathroom as he tried in vain to tie that stupid piece of cloth.

Stopping, the billionaire took a calming breath before he glanced out through the doorway and at his bed. There, mingled in the sheets was Zatanna, her hair a knotted mess of curls and ends, a rather satisfied look on her face. She was still dozing despite the racket Alfred had caused in waking him up. Add to that a hot shower and getting dressed and the dark-haired woman looked as if she were determined to sleep all day.

Then again, he did give her a rather legitimate reason for doing so.

Their spat in the cave had landed them in unknown territory, at least when it came to them. Even as adolescents, Bruce knew Zatanna had been infatuated with him and he would've been certifiably blind had he not found her attractive as well. Due to other matters, however, that had been a flame that was never given a chance to be lit, at least until now.

Hopefully Alfred cleaned up the mess of his suit that had been left behind. As for the bedroom, it was mostly Zatanna's clothes that were haphazardly tossed about, a random pair of boxers and an undershirt mixed in with fishnets and high heels.

A moan soon shook Bruce from his musings as Zatanna began to stir in the bed. "Why is it so bright?" she complained as she tightened the bedsheet around her, burying her head into the pillow.

"Because it's morning?" he suggested as an answer to her obviously rhetorical question.

Zatanna laid there for a moment before she shifted about, pushing her upper body up with one arm as the other held the white sheet over her breasts. She seemed surprised that he was there until she noticed just who's bedroom she was in.

That was when a bright smile appeared on her face, one that Bruce found infectious.

"Do you know how many of my fantasies we just satisfied last night?" she asked him, then answered without giving the billionaire a chance to. "God, that was great."

"I'm pretty sure that's what you were calling me around 3," Bruce replied.

Raising a hand up to her hair, she began digging her fingers through the stands as she gave the knotted mass a shake. "Don't let that get to your head. You're not the best I've ever had."

The dark-haired man gave her a stoic look. "Is that right?"

"Well, what I mean to say is that you were great, better than most. Actually, you blew most of them away—"

"Was that before or after I went down on you?"

She gave him a look that clearly told him to shut it. Bruce merely flashed her a smirk and went about preparing himself for another attempt at tying his tie. "Alright, fine, you win," he heard her say, "You're the best. Happy now?"

"Very." The ends of the tie looped and wrapped around each other until Bruce ran into the same problem again. Seriously, he could pick any lock known to man, sneak into a fortified museum, and knew how to tie any variety of knots, but somehow the Windsor knot was escaping him.

That was when Zatanna appeared in the mirror behind him, the bedsheet wrapped around her body and held together as one corner was tucked right in front of her bosom. She raised her arms and pushed Bruce's hands aside, taking the ends of the tie and went to work. It was like magic watching her tie the knot expertly. When she finished, she pressed a hand onto the dark-haired man's shoulder, indicating for him to turn around, which he did.

Hands back on the tie, the dark-haired woman tightened the knot as she looked up at the billionaire through lowered lashes, a small smile on her lips. It was enchanting, to say the least. "Thanks," he grunted out after a long moment of merely looking down at the beautiful woman.

"No problem," she whispered as she stood up on her tip-toes, ghosting her lips against his cheek in a quick peck. "So why are you dressed up?"

"Business meeting, or so Alfred tells me."

"Sounds boring. Mind if I tag along?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "If you want, but I can't let you into the meeting. Lucius would have my head on a silver platter."

"Poor Bruce," Zatanna murmured as she slid her arms around the back of his neck, prompting the young man to wrap his own around the woman's waist. This time, their lips met in a kiss, holding for a moment before they drew apart. "Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll make sure you have some company on the way in."

* * *

><p>Zatanna couldn't say she was dressed to impress, what with her severely lacking choices in formal attire. She really doubted a cocktail dress would work, not to mention this was some meeting Bruce had to attend. So a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt would have to suffice.<p>

Not that Bruce minded. He was currently distracted by some documents he was reading, taken from his briefcase on the ride in. Alfred was driving them in some sleek, black car she didn't know the name of and had promptly forgotten it when it was explained to her. She really wasn't a car person to be frank.

Which left the dark-haired woman completely bored as they drove into the Gotham city limits. What was she thinking joining these two bags of fun on a morning ride when she could've been quite comfortable in Bruce's very comfy bed? Sometimes she wondered just what stray thoughts were running freely in her head and why she didn't feel the need to ignore them.

When Alfred began slowing the car, Bruce looked up from his papers. Glancing out the window, Zatanna noticed the tall, looming Wayne Enterprises building across the street from them. _Here at last,_ she drooled in her head.

"Pick-up at the usual time, Sir?" Alfred asked from the front.

Bruce placed his papers back into his briefcase, shutting the lid with a click. "Actually no," he answered, his blue eyes looking towards Zatanna. "Come around lunchtime. If these gets tedious, I think I'll need to make an escape."

"I do believe you mean to have lunch with Ms. Zatanna?" Alfred corrected him.

"That too." Bruce then leaned over to the dark-haired woman, who couldn't help moving closer as well. They each gave and received a chaste kiss, nothing like that one in the bathroom, but nice all the same. "Have fun without me."

"As if you were a ton of that," the dark-haired woman retorted while she rolled her eyes.

Bruce smirked at her before sliding back to his door, opening it as he got it. When it slammed shut, Zatanna watched the billionaire circle around the car and then crossed the street towards his office.

"It seems we have the morning to ourselves, Ms. Zatanna," the butler then prompted, forcing the woman to tear her eyes away from the billionaire's retreating back. "Where would you like to go?"

Zatanna leaned back in her seat as she looked towards the rear view mirror, seeing the older man's face staring back at her through it. "Don't know, Alfred," she said with a shrug. "You know this city better than I do; why don't you take me somewhere we can kill a couple hours. Perhaps brunch or something."

"Very good, Miss," Alfred replied as he looked out the windshield. "I do know of a rather pleasant…"

He trailed off at that, causing Zatanna to frown. "A pleasant what?" she encouraged him.

That shook the butler out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, Ms. Zatanna, but something caught my eye."

"And that would be?"

At this, Alfred pointed towards a nearby parking garage entrance. "I saw a rather large truck go through there."

Zatanna wasn't seeing where the older man was going with this. "Okay...what about it?"

"That is the garage for employees and the like. Trucks never go in there." Alfred then reached up and put the car into drive. "If it isn't a bother, I would like to check this out."

The dark-haired woman saw no reason not to. Alfred had said he was part of a spy network; maybe his spy training was tingling. "Go for it."

With that, Alfred pulled them into the street and into the garage. Keeping a slow speed, the two of them looked for the truck the butler had spotted, only seeing rows upon rows of parked cars. As they worked their way down the ramps, Zatanna could feel a nervous feeling begin gnawing in her stomach. Something didn't feel right about this.

And then they found it. At the bottom level, the truck was parked next to some kind of entrance, the dark-haired woman wasn't sure what for. However, there were a few men milling about the back side of the truck, and even from where they sat, Zatanna and Alfred could see that each man wore a clown mask.

* * *

><p>Bruce didn't have to feign the bored look on his face. The meeting had yet to start as he and his board were waiting on their guests. Wayne Enterprises had been in talks with another corporation on a merger deal for the last few weeks. Well, perhaps it wasn't a merger as much as they were buying out the other company.<p>

Word had already reached them when the other group arrived. They were probably just running through last minute briefings before they came in for the sale. Of course, Bruce's team had the advantage at the moment; it helped that the other company was on the verge of bankruptcy, which made them a bit desperate for a quick resolution.

"Easy, Bruce," he heard Lucius coo. "I know you haven't found these meetings exciting, but they are necessary."

"If their plan is to bore me to death, I think they might succeed," the dark-haired man quipped as he looked towards the older man. "I don't really see how much my involvement is needed really, other than my signature at least."

"And it's because of your signature that you need to be here. It wouldn't look good on us if you just signed whatever we slapped down in front of you, no matter if that's how most of Gotham thinks you work."

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "I think we could encourage that perspective. Keep our competition thinking we only got lucky on our ventures while we keep leaving them in our dust."

Lucius gave him a wry smile. "A cunning strategy, I'll give you, but while that'll work for the big wigs at Lexcorp and Queen Industries, it doesn't fool the Gotham corporations."

"Pity."

That was when the doors to the boardroom opened and a flood of dark-suited men entered. Each man had a briefcase in their hand and they immediately set up on the opposite side of the table. Yet, there was one man that was empty-handed, not to mention wearing a white business suit in contrast to his entourage. Tall, well-built, tough-looking, this was the man Bruce had to see and he wasn't all the excited to meet him.

As the billionaire and his board rose from their seats, the man to the left of white suit began the introductions. "Gentlemen, Mr. Wayne, may I introduce you to Roman Sionis of Sionis Industries. Mr. Sionis, the Wayne Enterprises Board."

"So I see," Sionis spoke as he held out a hand to Bruce. Being the proper host, Bruce took the offer hand and gave it a tight shake, one that Sionis returned with a touch more strength.

Bruce was not unfamiliar with this man. Roman Sionis had a reputation as being a former mobster for the Falcone crime family, but had struck off on his own some time before the arrival of Batman. Hell, he looked just like one of the many thugs he had beaten unconscious. Fortunately, Sionis never rose to prominence in the criminal underworld, though he was known to dabble in it at times. His ventures with his corporation at least kept his shadier deals off the streets, so he was a lesser evil when compared to the mob.

"Pleasure to meet your acquaintes," Bruce greeted the man.

"Pleasure is all yours," the black-haired man grunted back. "Though I'm sure you're quite aware this ain't a social call."

Bruce just kept a dumb grin on his face and nodded exaggeratedly. He got the feeling the man didn't really like him, though the feeling was mutual. Dropping his hand, he took a seat, which was taken as a sign by all to do so as well. "Then let's get down to business, shall we?" he suggested.

Sionis' representative took that as his cue to jump in. "Our accountants have been going over the numbers and we've come up with what we think is a suitable proposal." At this, booklets were passed from one side of the table to the other, each Wayne board member receiving a copy.

"What's the asking price?" William Dithers, the board's reigning crypt keeper, demanded before opening his booklet.

It was Sionis that answered. "$50 mil."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that as several of his board members gasped. Dithers looked as if he were about to have a heart attack as he began sputtering at the number. "And trust me," the black-haired man continued, "the number will only go up."

"Mr. Sionis," the rep said uneasily. "This is—"

"This is what?" Sionis snapped, head whipping around to glare at his employee with enraged eyes. The rep cowed in response. "This is _my_ company, which _I_ put all my blood, sweat, and tears into. Now we're selling it away to some moron blowing off mommy and daddy's trust fund. If he wants my company so bad, then he's gotta earn it."

Bruce leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't need to pretend to feel insulted by this punk, but unlike Sionis, he had Lucius ready to kick his foot should he misbehave. Sometimes it sucked to have to play a goody-two-shoe.

Out of the corner of his eye, the billionaire notice Lucius eyeing him, trying to judge if the Wayne heir would attempt a retaliation. He merely just closed his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh, which was probably all the older man needed to know before he entered the fray. "We understand that you value your company greatly, Mr. Sionis. That's what we're here for today: to make sure everyone here leaves happy."

"Damn right we are," the black-haired man agreed.

So it was going to be one of these meetings. Bruce wished he had an aspirin or something to fight off the headache he was sure to have. Or maybe he could send Alfred a text to bail him out earlier. Hmm, that actually sounded like one of his better ideas today.

Opening his eyes, the billionaire took note of a pitcher of water on the table. More for busy work than anything, he reached out to the pitcher and picked it, filling a nearby glass with water. Setting the pitcher down, he then retrieved the glass and took a sip from it. If he was going to be insulted throughout these proceedings, he was going to do so well-hydra...ted...

Bruce frowned. The water tasted...different. Taking another sip, he tried to figure out what was different with it. Sometimes the staff would add lemon to the water, but he knew it wasn't lemon he was tasting. It definitely wasn't any other citrus, so that ruled out other fruits. What the heck was it?

Setting the glass down, the dark-haired man stared at it to the point of ignoring anything else. It was when he felt a sharp jab in his ribs that he was jolted from his musings, looking up to see an annoyed Sionis rolling his eyes and a cross-looking Lucius glaring at him.

"Pay attention," Lucius hissed at him. "You're being asked a question."

"My apologies," Bruce said as he looked to the Sionis team. Was it him or was the guy in the corner of his eyes blurring? "I was...distracted. Could you repeat the question?"

"Unbelievable," Sionis muttered.

It was a second later that Bruce began to feel that something was wrong. For some reason he was beginning to feel tired. In fact, the edges of his vision were beginning to become more blurry. It was almost as if he were falling asleep, yet it wasn't a natural sleep. Glancing around, he noticed a few other people also had glasses of water, and if he weren't mistaken, they too looked sleepy.

That was when the doors to the boardroom flew open was a load crash as they hit the walls. Heads jerked towards the doorway and gasps soon followed as men in clown masks poured into the room. "Nobody move!" one of the men demanded, holding up the end of a sawed-off shotgun at them. Meanwhile, his comrades were circling the table, each one going up to a Wayne board member or one of Sionis' people and forced the barrel of a gun into the back of their heads.

"What the fuck is this?!" Sionis demanded as he began to push himself up. Immediately, a thug grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him back into the seat, using the bottom of his ozi to bash the black-haired man on the back of his head. Sionis let out out a cry as he dropped his head to the table, the thug shoving the ozi barrel into the back of his neck. "You've got no idea who you're messin' with!" he growled.

"Shut up!" the clown-masked punk shot back, digging the barrel deeper.

"Oh, come now, can't we all be civil about this?"

Bruce's blood froze in his veins. That voice…

Eyes shooting towards the doorway, he found the Joker standing there, a bright smile on his pale face. Walking in, he made his way up to Sionis and crouched down, lying the side of his face on the table to look at the black-haired man face-to-face. "After all, you get more flies with honey than vinegar, though I find that a bug zapper does just the same thing with a bigger bang."

To Sionis' credit, he wasn't intimidated by the clown. "What the hell do you want?"

The Joker shot up into the air as he hopped away. "Why, my good man, I am here on a business venture! A hostile takeover as you suits would say." He then reached into his purple suit jacket and pulled out an absurdly large handgun. "And if a few people end up losing their heads, well, that's just business."

* * *

><p>Alfred slowed the car to a stop, shoving the gear shift into park before he turned the engine off. Car door flying open, the older man climbed out and slammed it shut.<p>

He could feel Zatanna's eyes on him as she watched him walk around the car, heading to the trunk. Hitting the trunk button on the clicker, the lid pop up with a click, Alfred pushing it opened and blocking himself from the dark-haired woman's view. Aside from the jumper cables, tools needed to change out a tire, and a spare tire, the trunk was empty. Pulling up a piece of the carpet, Alfred moved it aside to reveal a rectangular metal face, a lock hole in the middle of it. Key in hand, the butler inserted it into the lock and unlocked it, lifting the metal lid up and reveal an 1897 Winchester shotgun.

Pulling the weapon out, Alfred pulled out a box of shells and opened it, pouring the shells out of the box and into the bed of the truck. Picking up a handful of them, the butler began shoving them into the bullet chamber.

It was then he heard a car door open and shut, followed by hurried footsteps. Zatanna soon stood next to him, freezing in place when she noticed the shotgun.

"Alfred, what's happening?" Zatanna asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," he answered resignedly. With that said, Alfred grabbed the forestock and jerked it down and up, the infamous cocking sound being made. "Whatever reason those men are here, we must reach Master Bruce before them."

Zatanna swallowed, her fear evident on her face. Though he wished to comfort her, there was precious little time for that. Instead, he began stuffing his pockets with the remainder shotgun shells, slamming the trunk shut once he was ready. Briskly, he walked towards the wall of the parking garage, right where a NO PARKING sign hung. Placing his hand at the bottom of the sign, he pushed it to a side, revealing two arrow buttons, the top one he pressed. Zatanna caught up with the older man just as a _ding!_ was made and the nearby wall slid open, revealing the inside of an elevator.

Once the two boarded the furnished cage, the doors sliding close, Zatanna finally asked, "What is this?"

Alfred hit one of the top floor buttons before he answered. "Following Dr. Fries' attack on Wayne Enterprises during the Night of Ice, Master Bruce had secret elevators built to provide an escape route should another such attack occurred. Only Wayne employees know of them and they have been sworn to secrecy as to their existence."

"Uhh, what's to stop one of them from blurting it out?"

"If hostile forces knew of them, they could be used to trap the employees, or even used as an attack point. A second attack by the unfortunate Matthew Hagan reinforced their use."

Zatanna stared at the butler. "How many times does this place get hit?"

"Not often, I assure you, but there are many threats made against the company on a daily basis. It's extremely rare that anyone follows through."

"Too bad this isn't one of those times," the dark-haired woman grumbled.

Alfred chose to ignore the comment, instead looking up at the little screen above the floor buttons, taking note of which floor they passed. "I need you to promise me something, Ms. Zatanna," he said.

"What?"

"Whatever happens here, Master Bruce must be recovered." Alfred turned his head to regard her with a serious look. "Should those men already be in the boardroom, we will have to fight. If that is the case, I will be relying on you to get to Master Bruce and see him into this very elevator. I will do my best to hold them off, but should something happen to me, do not come back for me."

Zatanna's eyes widened. "You...you're thinking about staying behind, aren't you? No, absolutely not. We all leave together or we don't leave at all!"

"I have every intention of being on this elevator when you are," Alfred reassured her, "do not worry about that. What I _am_ suggestion is that we have a contingency in place should something unexpected happen. Bruce is the priority."

Which was the point. As far as he was concerned, Master Bruce was in danger and it was incumbent on him to protect him as much as the older man could. It was why he had a weapon locked in the trunk despite the master's well-known dislike of them. Never had Alfred expected a situation like this to occur, but he always felt better if he was at least prepared for them.

Fortunately, the dark-haired woman seemed to understand where he was coming from. With a lump in her throat, she nodded in acknowledgement. "Okay, I get it. But we're all leaving there together, got it? No macho Die Hard crap, you get me?"

A bubble of humour welled up in Alfred, but he resisted the quip that was at the tip of his tongue. He had always been more fond of the James Bond movies rather than the Bruce Willis series, being a fellow Brit and all. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The elevator then slowed to a stop, the doors silently opening. A short hallway appeared before the two, opening up into a room. From where they stood, all they saw was a wall with paintings hanging on it. A line of windows were to the left, filling up a wall with the Gotham skyline visible from them. With the shotgun crossing in front of his chest, one hand on the forestock and the other on the handle, a finger pressed on the trigger, Alfred quietly crept towards the end of the hall, Zatanna following behind.

As he reached the corner, the butler pressed himself against the wall and chanced a peak. He found the long black table in the middle of the room, one end close to where he stood. Clown-masked goons stood around the table, one behind each person seated. Quickly, Alfred spotted Master Bruce a few seats away, thankful the dark-haired man preferred sitting off-center for once. The main doors to the meeting room were thrown wide open and a pale-faced, purple-suited man was pacing around the table. This must've been the Joker.

"So as you can see, I don't need all of you—most of you, assuredly, but the rest of you would just be dragging us down. So in order to make this fair, I'm going to pick some of you at random and blow your heads off. Sounds like fun, right, heh heh! So without further ado...eeny...meeny...miney...moe…"

Glancing back to Master Bruce, Alfred could tell something was wrong. The way he held himself, it was as if he were trying to hold himself up. Something must've happened before they had arrived.

Leaning back, Alfred then glanced to Zatanna, who was watching him with focused eyes. He nodded to her, which she returned with a nod of her own. It was time.

Swinging around the corner, Alfred brought the base of the shotgun and pressed it against his shoulder, pointing the barrel at the closest goon. Squeezing the trigger, the weapon fired, the recoil forcing the rifle butt against him. His shot hit the clown-masked man right in the back, throwing him up into the air and over the table, crashing to the floor a moment later. _One shot._ Time seemed to slow down, the heads of the room's occupants jerking towards him. Pulling back on the forestock, the empty cartridge was spat out and the chamber clicked back into place, ready for another shot.

Turning the barrel, Alfred couldn't help but aim right at the goon next to Master Bruce, squeezing the trigger and hitting the man right in the chest. The man scream out as he was thrown off his feet and landed on the floor. _Two shots_.

That was when time sped up and Alfred cocked the shotgun over and over, unloading it at every clown mask he could. _Three shots. Four shots._ Goons and board members alike dove to the ground screaming as he fired. Unfortunately, the butler was only able to hit one more clown man, nailing him in the face, the other two shotgun blasts ruining the table. _Five shots._

Swinging back around, Alfred took cover behind the wall just as the Joker's men began returning fire, bullets whizzing by the hall entrance and pelting the wall. Despite this, the butler calmly rummaged a hand in his pocket, pulling out more shells and sliding them into the open bullet chamber.

Once he was ready, the older man looked to Zatanna again. "Get to Master Bruce; I'll cover you." When she gave him a sharp nod, he waiting a moment until the gunfire died down. Once it did, he spun around the corner, opening fire once more.

The first thing he noticed was that some of the goons were missing, along with a few board members. He caught sight of two clown men rushing their captives to the open doors. Aiming at them, Alfred fired at the back of one, scoring a hit as the man cried out and dropped to the floor. _One shot._ His second shot hit the wall, allowing the other masked thug to escape with his captive. _Two shots._ Unfortunate, but that would be dealt with later.

It was then he felt Zatanna rush by him, the dark-haired woman diving to the floor and sliding across its polished surface until she was hidden by the table. _Three shots._ She began scrambling to Master Bruce, reaching his chair momentarily, where she grabbed onto the man and chair pulled it backwards.

Alfred had to take cover behind the wall again as counterfire was launched at him. He winced when he heard the loud crash, but knew that Master Bruce would be alright; he had a hard enough noggin to take such abuse. Reloading again, he then crouched down and peaked around the corner.

To his satisfaction, Zatanna had Master Bruce out of the chair. Alarmingly, he seemed uncoordinated, so the woman was at his back, her arms wrapped around his chest beneath his armpits. She turned her head back to the butler and mouthed, "Ready."

Giving her a nod, Alfred stood back up, took in a deep breath, then swung back out, opening fire once more. _One shot._ This time he walked away from the hallway, heading towards the end of the table. _Two shots._ Meanwhile, Zatanna began dragging Master Bruce to the hall, keeping low she used all of her leg power to move them. Faintly, the older man heard her order, "C'mon, Bruce, help me out! Use those legs!" _Three shots._ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired man began pushing on the floor with his feet, taking a step one at a time and helping the couple pick up speed. _Four shots_. By the time Alfred reached the end of the table, he fired his last shot, ducking down behind the chair and immediately reloading. A look to his right showed that Zatanna and Master Bruce had reached the hallway, much to his relief, and were heading right for the open elevator.

Gunfire roared once again, the table and chair behind him exploding into shards of wood as the bullets bit into the furniture. It seemed it was time for them to go. Waiting for the inevitable lull, Alfred then shot up onto his feet when it happened and began walking back to the hallway as he fired. _One shot. Two shot_.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire was heard and pain seared into his legs. Letting out a cry, Alfred dropped to the floor, landing on his back as the air was forced out of his lungs. Even worse, his shotgun slipped from his grasp and scattered across the floor.

Well this was unfortunate.

* * *

><p>"That's right, Bruce, keep kicking!" Zatanna said as she kept shuffling backwards to the elevator. Dear Lord this guy was heavy! It hadn't seemed like that last night, but then again she hadn't been forced to haul Bruce's heavy ass body around either.<p>

And what the hell was up with Alfred? Seriously, the guy went WWII on her, what with forcing her through a freaking gunfight to drag out Mr. Dark-of-the-Night, or whatever his title was. Sheesh, next time they had to drag Bruce's butt out of enemy lines, Alfred would be the one to do it and she could be all Ellen Ripley on everyone else.

Soon, the two entered the elevator, much to Zatanna's relief. Shooting a hand out, she hit the button for the underground level they needed to go to and then began sitting Bruce up, giving them more room so that his feet weren't blocking the elevator doors. She would just hold the door until Alfred got there and they could get out of this forsaken place. However, because of her lifting, she felt the dark-haired man stiffen in her arms.

Looking up, Zatanna felt her stomach drop. Alfred was lying on the floor, gunless, and there was blood on his pants. If it wasn't for the rise and drop of his chest, she would've thought he was dead.

That was when the Joker appeared. The man seemed to slide into view, coming to a stop by Alfred's feet, looming over the butler like a wraith. Alfred was looking up at the green-haired man stoically as always. The two seemed to be staring the other down, locked in some sort of silent battle.

"Al...fred…" Bruce grunted, beginning to struggle in her arms. Instantly, Zatanna tightened her grip on him to prevent him from doing something stupid, like getting out of the damn elevator. "Alfred!" he rasped out louder.

That was when the Joker finally broke the stalemate. Raising a hand up, he pointed a massive handgun right at Alfred, aiming it at the butler's head.

The elevator doors chose at that moment to begin sliding close. Zatanna and Bruce stared at the sight, transfixed by it. Inch by inch, the two men disappeared, Alfred staring calmly as the Joker waited to pull the trigger. Everything and everyone was still as the elevator doors finally closed shut, separate the two groups after what felt like an eternity.

_BANG!_

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: That was a conversation long in the making, though we'll see how Barbara take it. Kinda obvious what she intends to do lol<p> 


	20. I'm Sorry

It was normal for the doors of the Gotham City Police Department to open and shut. Countless times they would open and allow whoever was outside inside the not so hallowed halls of law enforcement.

With that said, not everyone who walked through those doors happened to be a recovered James Gordon.

Double takes were taken as cops made sure they were seeing who they were seeing. Gordon himself didn't pay it any mind. What he did pay attention to was that there were fewer officers in his precinct than he remembered seeing. Just another reminder of the horrors that Gotham had been facing lately.

Thus his mission was set. It was time to turn this all around. His first objective was reach his office and start assessing house.

One elevator ride later brought him all that much closer to his first goal, but word seemed to travel faster than that ascending metal box. Again eyes were on him, a lot of them young ones. House had been cleaned it seemed. Either that or the veterans had been wiped out or scrammed while they could. Not the best thing, especially when planning a tactical offensive.

Up ahead, he could see a very welcomed face. Hard to believed he'd be saying that about Bullock of all people. The man in question looked as if he had seen his savior because the replacement commissioner was heading his way in long strides that the now-recovered commissioner hadn't thought him capable of.

There were a lot of surprises to be found nowadays.

"Com'mish!" Bullock greeted. "I didn't believe it when I heard it. You're back!"

"And wanting to get down to business. I hear you boys have been having it tough," he responded.

Normally he'd expect something from Bullock that went along the lines of, "Eh, we managed." Instead what he got was, "That's no joke. We've been having our asses handed to us."

Gordon wasn't sure if he should be worried about that admission.

"Then the first thing we need to do is start handing it back," he stated with more confidence than he felt. Moral was obviously down and it was time to do some damage control on that front.

"That sounds like music to my ears," the other man agreed wholeheartedly. "So what's the plan?"

"First thing is first, who's in change?" He already knew the answer, but wanted to see what his replacement would do.

"That would be you, Com'mish," Bullock answered readily. "If I remembered where I put them, I'd give you the keys to your office back."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't want to be in that office."

"It's nice, but it's not my thing. 'Sides, felt more like I was keeping your seat warm for when you came back." The huskier man shrugged his shoulders as an afterthought to his remark.

"I plan to stick around longer this time," Gordon promised. "Now I need to get up to date. Who do we have left, what can we do with them, and how will we be able to use all of it to catch the Joker?"

"Man after my own heart. As you can see, at least half the department is gone, either dead or running with their tails between their legs. Our manpower is shit, Com'mish. Greenhorns are the only ones crazy enough to stick around."

"If greenhorns are what we got then we'll use greenhorns. Anyone around here not a greenhorn?"

"My rooks around here...somewhere. Got a couple of the old guys who are close to retirement. Cort's over there. Oh yeah, and Essen's right behind ya."

"Hey, Com'mish."

"You've been spending too much time with Bullock," Gordon remarked unamused before slowly turning his head to face the lovely woman behind him. Yes, it had been a long while and Essen was indeed a sight for sore eyes, no offense to Bullock.

But now was not the time for pleasantries. They could do that once they got the clown back in his box.

"Crazy times make for strange bedfellows," Essen quipped. "It hasn't been the same without you."

From over the commissioner's shoulder, Bullock replied, "What? No Jim?"

"Now's not the time for that," Essen stated evenly.

"We have a lot of work to do," Gordon agreed. "Bullock? Where should we start?"

"Nailing the clown to the ground so that he never gets up again," the interim commissioner growled.

"A little bit more specific. If we're to start changing how things are going on around here, we need to start having some kind of success, something that will get the men motivated," the older man said. "We're not yet close to capturing the Joker, but that's where I want us to end up. In the meantime, what can we do that will get us there?"

"So something we can do that will make the Joker as frustrated as we are, is that what you're suggesting?" the lieutenant asked.

"Let's start with his resources. I'm talking about money, his hired muscle, the stuff he makes for that poison of his, everything. That lunatic has made us hurt. Well, now it's our time to start making him hurt."

"I'm liking the sound of this," Bullock chuckled as he crossed his arms. "I'll check in on the lab geeks, see if they've figured out anything about that laughing gas. If we know what he's using to make it, we can start getting that stuff out of the city, or at least make it harder for him to get it."

"Recent gang violence has emptied the streets from potential men that the Joker could pick up," Essen picked up. There was no need to say what the reason for that was. "Maybe there's a chance that any of the recent...victims may have been contact by the Joker recently."

"I'm liking those ideas. Keep them coming." Gordon hardened his face, giving as much of a show of strength as he could give at this moment in time. "We start turning this thing around. Now."

"Um, sir?"

The moment interrupted, Gordon and his fellow law enforcement officers glanced as the young, uniformed man who was now the focus of their attention.

Swallowing, the officer said, "There's something going on at Wayne Enterprises. It's all over the TV."

Well. So much for the brainstorming session.

"We're on our way," Gordon said as he began striding towards the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see into the break room, the door being held open and revealing a television set hanging from the wall. Even from where he walked, he could see a picture of Wayne Tower, a blue banner on the bottom of the TV screen proclaiming in big bold letters, "MASSACRE AT WAYNE TOWER."

That didn't sound good at all.

However, it was because of this that he caught the screen suddenly change, the grey static of an interrupted signal replacing the news feed. Normally the older man wouldn't have paused, even as the officers in the break room began to noisily complain about it. He did slow down though, which allowed him to definitely see what came next.

Slowly, the static faded away and the form of a pale man in a purple suit appeared, a wide smile on his face as his sunken eyes stared out from the television.

"_Greetings Gotham! Joker here!"_

_Oh no._ Gordon came to a complete stop as he gaped at the TV, Essen and Bullock stopping behind him as well. They must've been following him to the elevators he surmised, but now they two were transfixed by the Joker's grinning mug.

And then, the computers went haywire. Each computer screen went black and a moment later the image of the Joker appeared on them, the same one as the break room television. Whipping his head around, the commissioner soon stared at a nearby computer monitor, taking slow steps towards it as he moved to get a better view.

"_As I'm sure you're very well aware,_" the insane clown started cheerily, "_I've been taking some time off these last couple of days. Ya see, I needed a bit of a vacation to clear my mind, work on my lovely tan, and get refreshed. I've been very busy, ya know, and I needed some good old R&R."_

"He needs more than that," Bullock growled under his breath. "He needs a trip to Blackgate."

Gordon couldn't have agreed more.

That was when Joker's voice dropped an octave, taking on a deadly tone. "_But what do I find when I come back? My home is destroyed, cops are milling around like headless chickens, and the Bat's been seen dancing with gangs. Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you all were starting to _enjoy _my time away._

"_So, it's up to me to teach all of you a lesson._" His tone had returned to that sickening happy one, the one Gordon just knew wouldn't end well for anyone. "_Starting with the upper crust of society, I've taken into my possession the men and women that comprise the Board of Directors for Wayne Enterprises._" He paused as he began to look disinterested, waving a hand about limply as he added, "_Along with some tagalongs no one really cares about. But hey, a hostage is a hostage and who am I to judge?_"

Now the Joker became much more enthusiastic. "_According to my watch,_" where he held up his arm and pulled back the purple sleeve of his coat, revealing a pale arm covered from wrist to elbow with several different watches, each one telling a different time from the others, "_Each hostage will have until the stroke of midnight to be saved. Now, I'm not a prejudice kind of guy, but if anyone that isn't big, black, and bat-like tries to do anything hero-y...BOOM! The hostages will die and you'll be seeing their brain matter on the 6 o'clock news. Capeesh?_"

And then the Joker began to shake, for what reason Gordon had no clue, but he soon found out and he didn't like it at all. It started off low, but gradually grew louder until it was the only thing he could hear.

"_Heh heh heh heh heh heh, hee hee hee hee hee hee, HAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!_"

* * *

><p>Oh God, it was a blood bath.<p>

The newly returned commissioner grimaced at the sight of blood. There weren't many bodies, but someone must have been carrying a shotgun in order for it to be this bloody. All of the bodies had clown masks on. If this wasn't a sign that the Joker had been involved, he'd take off his badge and hang up his gun.

Wait. Over there. There was another body, but it was different from the others and thus stuck out. No clown mask on this one. A casualty? Another of the nearly statistical deaths that had been ranking up so far? Different clothes on this one, more refined.

"Do we have any identification on this one?" Gordon asked. Blood was making it hard for a facial identification not because of the single bullet wound in the forehead but from the disfigurement around the mouth. Almost like a smile was carved into the man's face.

"Yeah," Bullock answered him. "Poor sap had his wallet still on him. Alfred Pennyworth."

The commissioner had to close his eyes on that one. Though he barely knew the other man, he was still a fixture on the Gotham gossip columns if only for the reason that he was usually within physical distance of a large topic of gossip.

The Wayne Family butler. Practically a fixture at Wayne Manor.

"You're gonna have to check this out. My rook—Montoya, I mean—found a shotgun a while back. Old ass thing if I ever saw one." He heard the words, knew it was his unofficial second in command talking, and what was confirmed only served to make him grimace.

Gordon hadn't been too far off saying that it had looked like a shotgun was used. He had been right on the money, unfortunately.

"What do you think happened here?" the older man asked.

"Looks like ol' Jeeves put up a fight here. Gone all Rambo on this pieces of shit, but got taken down too. Can't say for certain who put one in his head but whoever did...that stuff must have been pissed off. I don't have anything to prove it, but I'm willing to bet it was the clown."

"It's my first day back and we have to deal with a massacre first thing?" The commissioner asked rhetorically before he shook his head.

"Don't forget about the kidnappings," Bullock reminded him.

Yes, how could he forget some very wealthy men were kidnapped. As if he didn't have enough pressure as it was. Maybe Gordon should have listened to Barbara and taken one more day off.

"Alright, you know the drill. We need to find out all possible locations that the board members could be kept and then we need to start kicking down some doors. Gotham's elite are under attack and our jobs are now impossibly harder. I'll do my best to keep the political pressure off us while you find the poor bastards so that we can appease some egos."

"What about James Bond?" Bullock gestured towards the corpse of Alfred Pennyworth.

"I'll handle that," Gordon sighed. "I don't know how Wayne will handle it, but I can't imagine it'll be well."

* * *

><p>"RAAAAAAHHHHH!"<p>

Bruce's roar echoed throughout the cave, amplified by the scream bouncing off the walls. Bats chirped and shrieked from the unexpected noise, shifting about on the cave roof above.

Slamming his hands down on his lab table, the dark-haired man swung his arms out, sweeping all of the equipment, bottles, beakers, and petridishes away. Many of the supplies flew off the table, crashing and shattering on the floor. Yet, that wasn't enough. Grabbing the underside of the table, Bruce let out another enraged scream as he flipped the table over, sending everything else on it crashing to the floor.

The image was fixated into his mind, burned for eternity. The Joker standing over Alfred, gun raised and aimed right at his old friend's face. Over and over, he watched helplessly as the elevator doors slid shut before that echoing blast of a gunshot filled his ears. It was an endless loop of grief, horror, and pain and it didn't look like it was going to be finished anytime soon.

Falling to his knees, Bruce raised his hands up and tightly clenched his fingers in his hair, the painful pulling of hair fibers strained in their follicles. It was just a physical pain that failed to overwhelm his mental anguish.

It was just like that damn alley all over again. A man cloaked in darkness, a gun, bullets fired, and the choked cries of his dying parents. This wasn't supposed to happen, not again, not after everything he had invested in this arduous fight. Yet, Alfred's blood was all over the Wayne boardroom floor just as the alley was painted with his parents.

And where had he been? Useless, drugged, and shoved to the side as Alfred tried to protect him. The entire reason for the Batman was to keep tragedies like this from happening; what use was it if the people closest to him were murdered in spite of the anonymity his alter ego provided him?

Two arms then wrapped around his body, jolting Bruce out of the depths of his mind. Comfort...he couldn't stand it. Jerking away, he pulled away from a startled Zatanna as she stared at him with wide eyes. He felt feral—a walking, living, breathing danger that could lash out at any second. He wouldn't put Zana through that, not now.

Her mouth began to move, sounds coming out, but Bruce wasn't in the right mind to understand just what she was saying. Instead, he shot up to his feet and marched away. He made sure to stay away from the giant super computer because that was just a disaster waiting to happen. Instead, in a recess of the cave was a makeshift dojo, one he used to maintain his fitness and skill.

Specifically, he went straight to a wooden pole, a thick piece of rope wrapped around it from top to bottom. Not even bothering putting on protection, Bruce came to a stop in front of the post, balled his hands into fists, and slipped into a stance. Barely a moment went by before he lashed out, pounding punch after punch into the wooden post. Blow after blow, he wailed on it, feeling a more familiar jolt of pain burning into his knuckles and down his arms. This...this he could deal with.

However, that came to an abrupt end as he drew back his right fist for another punch. Suddenly, two hands grabbed onto his coiled arm and pulled back, throwing off his balance as he began to spin around. His balance was completely shot when a foot was strategically placed by his own, tripping him up. The next thing Bruce knew, his back slammed into the post, Zatanna clutching his shirt and forcing him against it. "Stop it!" she screamed at him. "Just stop it, Bruce! You need to get control of yourself!"

The dark-haired man's anger exploded then. How _dare_ she order him like that?! Lashing out, he grabbed Zatanna by her shoulders, kicking a foot out to trip her just as she had done him. Eyes wide open as she lost her balance, Bruce spun them around, this time ending with him slamming the young woman's back against the pole. Zatanna let out a surprised, pained cry before biting down on it. Opening her eyes, she stared back at him challengingly. "Are you done yet?"

Bruce bared his teeth, muscles straining and bulging as he loomed over her, looking much like a feral animal. Then, he swung away from her, stepping away some distance before letting out another enraged roar.

When he finished, he suddenly felt drained. Slowly, his rage dribbled out of him, leaving him hallow. Staring out into the cave, the young man felt lost, the world falling off its axis with no way to fix it.

"I know you're hurting," he heard Zana say behind him. Her voice was soft, gentle, caressing even. "But now's not the time to get lost in your pain. I know that sounds bad, but you're needed right now. We need to stop the Joker—"

"We?" Bruce interrupted her, finally turning around to face the dark-haired woman. "No, no 'we.' Just me."

"Really? We're going to have this conversation again?" Zatanna sounded exasperated, if not put out. "You need every last bit of help that you can get and I'm here to do just that."

"No, absolutely not."

"Will you just listen to reason—"

"You don't get it, do you?!" Bruce shouted, silencing her. "I can't lose you too, not after today."

Zatanna tilted her head back, her chin raising up imperiously. "That won't happen. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"And what about Alfred? Huh?!"

"I'm sorry about Alfred, I really am." Briefly, she choked up, a tear trailing out from the corner of her eye. She strengthened her resolve then as she continued, "But he wouldn't want you doing this to yourself. You know that."

Serenity began to fall over the dark-haired man, his senses beginning to reign in his emotions. Already, he could feel his more logical self take control, allowing his body to relax for the first time since he arrived home.

Seeing this, Zatanna said, "Now, we need a plan. We can't just go guns blazing into Gotham and hope to nail this sick bastard."

Bruce nodded his head. "You're right." Turning, he began walking away from the dojo, heading towards the staircase.

"Where are you going?" the dark-haired woman asked.

"To suit up," he called back in response.

That was when he heard rapid footsteps behind him, Zatanna catching up with him shortly. Hand latching onto his bicep, she gave him a hard look. "And then?"

"Then I go stop the Joker."

"No, _we_ will stop him." She squeezed his arm for added emphasis. "You're not leaving me in this cave again, not when you need help out there."

Numbly, Bruce nodded his head. Zatanna seemed mollified by that gesture, her posture relaxing somewhat. "Now, I'm going to go upstairs and get my costume. When I get back, you better have a plan of action for _us._ Alright?"

Again, he nodded and watched as the dark-haired woman pulled away, quickly walking up the stairs and disappearing from sight. Shaking himself out of his daze, Bruce continued on his way to his suit, finding it right in its case. Opening the case, he went through the motions of stripping off his business suit and pulling on the armor piece by piece. All the while, he considered Zatanna's words.

If there was one thing she was right about, it was that a plan was needed. Trying to guess the Joker's next move and reacting to him wasn't working. The psychopath was ten steps ahead of everyone and it showed. Somehow he had to outthink the man before he reached the endgame. There was something else he had planned for tonight; the use of the Wayne board was just bait.

Considering this, it led Bruce to one conclusion and it was one he was sure Zatanna was not going to like. By the time he was pulling on his mask and activating all of its functions, the dark-haired woman had returned, dressed in her stage outfit from the fishnet stockings to the top hat. A poor choice of combat ware, but if that's what she wanted…

"So, come up with something?" she called out to him as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I have. Come this way." With that, Batman began leading the woman towards the medbay, climbing the metal staircase with Zatanna following him.

"So what is it?" she asked him once they reached the top. Batman moved towards one of the beds, stopping next to a cabinet, which he opened the top drawer and began rummaging in it. "Is there something here that you think can give us an edge?"

"There is." Finding what he was after, he then turned around to face the woman, Zatanna looking at him expectantly. Steeling himself, he then addressed her. "Zana."

She seemed to perk up at his use of her nickname. "Yes?"

Batman then shot his arm out, a small cannister in his hand with one finger lying on top of it. Pressing his index finger down, the cannister sprayed out a stream of gas, hitting Zatanna right in the face. Eyes wide, she immediately sucked in a breath full of the gas purely out of instinct from the shock she felt. That was when her eyeballs rolled back into her skull and she went limp, falling backwards.

In an instant, Batman was at her side to catch her, an arm wrapping around her waist as the other pressed up against her shoulder blades, his hand gripping onto her shoulder. Zatanna's head rolled to a side, her unconscious form pressed into his.

The vigilante stared at her face, a pained look appear on his own. "I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>To Camila Wayne: That was perfectly reasonable reaction lol<p> 


End file.
